Why can't I write?
Sure, I can sit here and wonder why I can't connect those dots. I'm fighting with my head to force the words that are bursting at their seams onto a page that runs from me.
What do I do?
I write. Whatever word comes to mind, whatever letters form next to each other, whatever I can do to help not keep me up at night. I write because of the flame inside of me that tells me that my story isn't over with. I have ink left inside of my pens and I can't let them go to waste. If I die, I want all of the ink to be gone. I want it to all be dry and permanent. I want everything that I write to be something that I felt purely and honestly. I want my words to be what have defined me throughout my life.
When it's all said and done? I want everyone to read my words. I want my words to break barriers that people have set up in their lives. I want to move mountains with the voice that my words create.
How do people do that? They wear their hearts on their sleeves and the walk away knowing that the time that they've put in will benefit them and everything that they have inside of them. They put the smiles on that spread like wildfires. They believe in themselves, even when nobody else in this world believes in them- they believe that their words are important and that no matter what they do with their lives, the words that they write down will change someone's life somewhere down the road.
The truth is that if I could just inspire one person, I'll know that anything that I've ever written has been enough at some point. And even if I lose it, I'll still have it in my heart. The inspiration is the definition of everything that I can ever aspire to be. Yes, I'm human. Yes, I feel things inside of me that need to come out. You do too. I bet you feel everything inside of you filling your heart to the brim and you don't know how to balance it without it spilling over the sides. Don't worry, it gets better.
I'm learning to harness that energy and place it somewhere in my life that needs the light that is shining through from the other side. One day, anything and everything that I've written will come back to me somehow. My eyes will be filled with the spark that I've always had inside of me somewhere. I won't be lost in translation. My heart will be at peace again, just as long as my ink is dry, permanent, and long-lasting.
One day.
