Thoughts About Writing

Sometimes when I write, I have a curious feeling of near erasure, like I am rescuing the words from drowning. When they come fast, I am dragging them out of their depths of sudden death. When they come slow, it is me who is drowning from choice, from deliberateness, from where to where else.

At a point when I decide to write them down, I am still unsure of where they are taking me–to some azure sea, or some rugged, dusty mind where people live and die by. Such extreme cases are rare but still occasioned my writing, now much more than my growing apprehension at discernment, at recalling where I picked up a pen, and when I dared to write.