On being afraid.

I am afraid. Afraid of a lot of things. Things that perhaps are silly to be afraid of, according to others. Others, however, may be speaking from experience which do not coincide with mine. Mine, despite being hollow and not that traumatic, left enough for me to stay afraid to this point.

Point taken, I can never write with such abandon anymore. Anymore means never like before. Before, I wrote my mind, heart and soul. Soul of mine which used to be white and pure, are now just blackish gray and tainted.

Tainted with hurt, sadness and broken trust. Trust that I used to put in myself and others around me is swaying and flailing in the wind of uncertainties and bitterness. Bitterness that should not be there, but there it is, rearing its ugly head. Head over heels I used to be in love, but now… I question a lot: what is love?

Love… hurts. Hurts like hell, to the hell and back. Back at where it all started and never really ended.

So, how did I do? Do you see what I was trying to do up there? Do you notice some sort of style I’m trying out?

Alhamdulillah. Praise Be Upon God. I have no idea how my brain and fingers conspired to type such a… dark and depressing entry. I guess I am still stuck on my past style where I supposedly write better when I am unhappy :p

The thing is, I’m not unhappy. Well, I’m not drop dead happy either, so what does that say, I wonder….

And I’m now increasingly wondering if I should try my hand at English creative writing. Heh.

Happy weekend, whoever you are who are still reading this sorry excuse for a blog šŸ˜‰

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