Why write?, I inquire.
Because it's my bliss.
I'm writing due to a compulsion to complete this commitment I've made to myself. And in blips it feels as if I'm deconstructing that bliss by forcing this publication, tugging words and clicking "Publish," no matter if it is decent scribbles or a leftover morsel...all that I have left to contribute on that given day.
On the contrary, I am inciting this part of me that has been comatose, postponed until further revelation... because I cannot linger. I can't stick around until the next inspiration comes to be. Because, what if it doesn't? Because, life. Nothing waits. There is an aliveness that I cannot suppress. The composer in me has been unearthed, and I don't foresee it being easy to squelch. It is, after all, my passion. My joy. The ultimate pleasure.
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