In life, there comes a point when the journey further is no longer possible. However willing you may be to go the distance. The body just can't hold up to rigours of the will. The ensuing conflict is what you as a person suffer and experience. This conflict makes it the most difficult part of the journey, turning you into a restless soul trying to come terms with what's slowly becoming reality. Equally to difficult it is to let go from the point where you stand and turn back. For at this juncture life ceases to be.
To be honest, I’m not sure. I didn’t have a plan for this. A few ideas popped into my head yesterday, but I let them slip away without writing them down. So now, I’m here, wondering... What should I write about? I’ve always admired how writers seem to find the words. They don’t just tell stories; they make sense of life. Whether it’s fiction, essays, or poems, their words flow effortlessly, drawing you into their world. It’s like magic—captivating and transformative. Somehow, they’ve mastered the craft of turning simple words into gems that stay with you long after you’ve read them. And then, there’s me. I just write. I let my thoughts spill out, raw and unfiltered, without much structure or thought. No carefully woven narrative, no grand flow—just whatever comes to mind. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever get to the level of those writers who make it all seem so easy. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. But right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m writing. I showed ...
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