The complex of a writer


It is dangerous being a writer, you are in a constant tug of war with your thoughts. Who do you kill? Who survives till the end? Who is less important? Who do you love more? Who should fall in love with who? Is it time to end the story yet, or do you flip on to the next chapter? Is it love they feel or are they just disillusioned?

Your characters are no longer just characters, they are people with feelings. They make demands that have to be met, somehow satisfied like a young lover’s night. Sometimes, you let your guard down and give in to these demands.

But sometimes you are stubborn, and you starve a love that is meant to be. You shred all the tenderness into pieces. You crawl into a pure heart, stain it with blood. And when you are done with red, you sneak in specks of black and smear it around. Till she’s gone. In the vanity of your ink, she’s forgotten. And he now holds a lover in each arm.

She’s pushed into a corner, but still she kisses the dagger that twists into her heart. You can see her eyes glow in flames but you ignore her. Did you not learn the rules? Where is our happy ending? Where is the teasing, the caresses, the kisses? What have you done to us?

Screw the rules, humans are better with flaws. They can survive on the edges of thorns. Rules are stifling. Rebels were born among us. To steer us off course. To cheat us, raise enemies inside a lover’s den.

Sometimes, you are conflicted. You sit love in the same table, then serve silence with forks and knives. You lay them on the same bed, then turn each one into a void that cannot be hugged. Spooning is better at 3 am but you snatched that as well.

She’s never been good at cold wars. She keeps her tears in a bottle. But he’s got a bottle of his own. He throws himself in it every night.

Grasping at straws, there is nothing for us to cling on here. We know how this story ends. We’ve been here before. Nothing to hope for. We’ve learnt to lick the remnants from the honey jar.

But sometimes you are weak, you crack under pressure. Maybe it’s redemption or maybe you are just bored with the old story. And in that moment, you jerk us all into a U-turn.

She walks into a room, clutching her heart in her hands. There is something desperate in the way she scans the room, her eyes bouncing from shadow to shadow. The crowd has grown bigger these days. Or maybe he just good at hiding in plain sight.

Suddenly, their eyes meet, a moment of reawakening. A reunion. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for, our happy ending. He’s there waiting, he’s always been there. She’s the one, she’s always been the one.

But who said cheating isn’t permitted. Confusion is a thing of beauty, surprise endings and twists. Come out, let’s play.

Maybe it isn’t him, maybe she’s moved on to a new love.

Or maybe it’s not them. Maybe this is a new love story with new characters altogether because sometimes, you are vague. Focus people, focus.

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About sensoria300

With your heart you can love... With depth, you can feel... With soul, you can survive... Harnessing the whispers of words. A dreamer. Movie junkie. Music aficionado.

Posted on July 8, 2015, in Poetic Justice and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. Well said. Always love your inspired writing!

  2. Oh wow, you’re mind is just racing isn’t it? Great post Jennifer (is it Jennifer?)
    I love the ending, ‘focus people focus’. Just classic.
    I’ve been away and without an internet connection, unfortunately. So glad to be back and in WordPress again. I don’t know how we ever lived without internet.
    🙂 ❤

    • Yeah, it’s Jennifer. And put your foot on the ground and tell that internet connection, “you will not steal the joy out of my life”..hehe. Welcome back to civilization Stacilys, as always your presence here is appreciated.

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