As I stare at my screen or at the falling leaves or at a corner of a room…
Words flit through the mind forming stories, images, and ideas running wild, cluttering my mind. No place to write them down, no time to jot these ideas down until soon enough, it takes everything I have to not scream.
Small three line stores, little poems scrawled into the margins of my notebook, page-long drabbles- no end, no beginning, just existing. Cathartic pieces that allow me to continue functioning…as close to human as possible. Longer pieces, short stories, descriptions of situations, ideas and characters, pieces that make sense but don’t have an end.
Longer pieces, short stories, descriptions of situations, ideas and characters, pieces that make sense but don’t have an end. Giving me fodder for my imagination but falling prey to my wondering thoughts. How am I supposed to keep up with them all?
A small grounding experience…a thought out completed work, works that are small, but nevertheless concluded, bigger works that have tantalising endings…if I ever manage to get to them. They form the thoughts I fall asleep to at night.