To get rid of all that noise.
So many different voices, screaming out their own words for others to listen, but others also shout so there is no one listening. The chaos of these voices, what we feel must be universal, fundamentally what we are as human beings, but at the same time, there is a uniqueness to the rhythm in which we describe it, and that makes us a wholly different person after all.
I have never wanted to write. The world was just too loud, even to hear your own voice. There is the deafening bustle of the everyday, the way people taking away your words and thoughts, making it their own, but then again, you think that’s life because we are, could be, the same at the very end.
What are words?
This abstract being, floating around to describe? To expand ourselves to another? To say the things we think we are thinking, which may be not at all the things flowing out of our mouths as words and written down as sentences but what the heart says is something else entirely.
How can we be so sure of anything at all, and yet, we believe, love and close our eyes to let ourselves go into sleep, which there is no guarantee that our eyelids will be filled with the morning light again.
Such courage to live at all, isn’t it?