That writing logo on the screen haunts me.

All i want to do is write and write and write.

Maybe because freedom calls me this way. it’s the way i can reach comfort in the most comfortable way possible. Write.

The word itself causes this resounding “yes” throughout my body. It captivates me. It’s when my words resonate with me and the whole world just feels like an adventrous mystery. And the keyboard feels just as good as the piano tiles would sound. I just need more and more of my own words coming to life. Each word. Write.




The logo beckons me to write whatever it is that i want . Anything. no restrictions. Just write and write. and feel whatever that comes as words rush through my brain, screaming to be written down.

Write because this might be the closest to freedom I could ever get right now.




Hands that itch to write


You know that feeling when inspiration hits really damn hard, but for some reason your body just doesn’t move. Instead, it seems like it’s trying to soak it up, leaving you all bothered and restless.

I dont know what it is about these sudden enthusiastic impulses. They make me feel alive, yet they make me stay rooted to the ground, forcing me to take the feeling in.

It’s weird in a way. this is what writing makes me feel like. Expressing myself in this way makes me feel free. And there’s a safe place built around the idea of a pen and a paper, or a computer where i type. There’s just a bubble where my thoughts are allowed to be as they are without them having to pretend. I dont have to be someone else when i write, though sometimes i feel like i’m not the one writing the words. in that case, im allowed to just be. be. whatever that i feel like being. Whoever.

And when my hands itch to write, i write. Oh boy do i write.

When my mind wanders, i write it down, leaving a trail where i follow as i please. And they lead me to mind adventures. Thoughts and thoughts and thoughts.


I’m reading The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. In there it said that thoughts have souls.


This book makes me want to write more and more and more. There’s an interesting desire to search for the souls of these thoughts that i recognise. The familiar feel of a thought, of a desire. And omens.

Omens. It shouldn’t be a coincedence i picked the book up. Burned me so much because of how much it relates to me. And the inspiration that came with it was so eager and alive. And so very curious. Maybe not curious. Maybe very curiously excited at the possibilities life comes up with.

And adventure sums up the whole of my restlessness.


7th February 2016