FAQ: Why do you write?
Because writing is my first aid kit.
Because writing can be my injury at the same time, and that there are wounds that no human hands can reach. Because I can’t answer the Doctor if he asks me how it hurts, at least, not in a needed medical way. Only metaphors, only excuses. Because words cut deeper than the scalpel. Because there are ups and there are downs; because no one told me how little remains of us
after the fall. Because love. Because lies. I write because this is a place of pure honesty; because the paper holds the truth that my lips could not. Because here I can put a title. Because we never had a title. Because there is a period that indicates an end;
because we didn’t had that kind of stopping signal. Because we squeeze into our jeans and we squeeze ourselves into people who have no intention of keeping us and we still wonder why there is such thing as pain. Because I wish my grandfather lived longer, because there are people who refuse to live. Because there is no cure for missing. Because there are people you can miss even if they are breathing right next to you.
Because there are questions not asked; because there are unaccepted answers. Because there are people I can no longer call. Because there are words I will never hear. Because we all have boxes inside our hearts— filled with memories, filled with regrets. Because you hurt me. Because I hurt you. Because I never stopped writing about you. Because you stopped reading my words. Because I wanted leaving to look beautiful, to make it less agonizing. Because the truth is it wasn’t beautiful, it was just simply letting you go , and I just stand silent with heavy eyes and ticking heart bomb trying not to shatter into million little pieces that could still love you in the next million years. Because it’s difficult to forget. Because memories are ordinary. Because memories are extraordinary. Because. Because. Because with you, I was me. Because this. Because words. Because there is you
I will never see