4 Years Ago, I Stopped Writing …


4 years ago, writing was my world, my voice and my communication to the world until I stopped writing.
4 years I ago stopped writing not because I don’t want to but because I needed to. I need to have some time with myself that if I'll continue to scratch that stain might as well be whitened.

The thought of being worthy became worthless. The thought of being unique turned to become normal. The thought of being myself turned out to be someone else. I need to stop writing because it’s not the same person anymore talking to the world, it’s not the same person with the same view of perspective and it’s not the same person who’s warm-hearted as she was.

I stopped writing because there’s nothing to say, or what to be said became nonsense.
I stopped writing because hearing what’s inside my head is useless.
I stopped writing because I felt there’s no one understand the purpose of the questions of what and why I wrote –I felt like an open book.
I stopped writing because that one-point-of-view became a third-person perspective.
I stopped writing because my heart and soul doesn’t know the real picture anymore – they forgot the real goal, forgot that they are the only ones who knows the real picture than anyone else.
I stopped writing because I lost the opportunity to write – an opportunity that has been stolen and never knew when will it come back.
I stopped writing because there’s so much going on that I can never forget every single detail of too much cruelty.
I stopped writing because I forgot what it’s like to dwelt in the comfort in the beauty of words.
I stopped writing because there’s so much to be written but doesn’t know where to start and what to say.
I stopped writing because I lost the original version of myself.
I stopped writing because I felt scared of what I think, the results of what will I write.
I stopped writing because I felt writing is WRONG and putting it into words is WORTHLESS.
I stopped writing because I am in the middle of being good and bad at it, and being in between is not enough.
I stopped writing because I am in denial of being not okay, that talking alone would suffice the bundles inside the head.
I stopped writing because I stopped caring for something, because I became selfish.
I stopped writing because I stopped appreciating the single details that surrounds.
I stopped writing because I felt that every person reflects just the same as I do.
I stopped writing because I saw how beautiful people turned out as clowns.
I stopped writing because there’s nothing left in me, lost the overwhelming feeling and ideas keep buried deeply in the ocean.
I stopped writing because I forgot that emotions are the powerful thing in the world that it will only become a distraction and will not do good.
I stopped writing because I lost the intention to do so.
I stopped writing because I don’t know who I am today.
I stopped writing because spilling my guts isn’t practical.
I stopped writing because I don’t have a purpose.
I stopped writing because I haven’t figured out how to come out of this evil Doppelganger
And now, I wish… I wish… this is the start.

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