You know what’s the best thing about being a writer?
We live different lives every single moment.
We watch things much more keenly.
What to the world is pointless and inciting, for its inviting.
We don’t speak much, but let our pens do the talking.
We don’t gossip much, but ensure our work gets people talking.
We don’t hate people, cultures or caste. Instead, we embrace them, learn from them, and capture them in our words.
Beauty for us isn’t skin deep, but deeper than even the soul.
Love for us isn’t a four letter word, but a four verse poem, a three novel story, and a lifelong feeling of beauty.
Yes, we are greedy, but not for money, blood or property.
Instead for information, observations, and like-minded conversations.
We don’t work for a living, we work for a life.
We are like everyone else, walking the streets.
Stopping to watch the clouds pass by on a sunny afternoon, jumping along to the music of a street caravan, and walking alongside a street urchin to understand his life.
We have a lot to say, yet a lot to hide.
We carry many hearts, to replace the ones we broke, and to fix the one in us that gets broken.
Our presence won’t make much of a difference to the world, but our absence will make it void.
It’s not just our loved ones pain we feel, but even the stranger sitting next to us on the bus.
It’s not just our own joys we dance to, but also to the one’s we hardly even meet.
We feel jealous, sometimes quite a bit.
Jealous of why we can’t express ourselves, as well as the eyes we see them though.
Our hearts beat a lot faster.
Faster enough to make someone feel so loved in a moment, that others even in a lifetime can’t.
Our pens are the window to the person we are.
Our words are the turbulence that is forever raging in our mind.
Our stories are the secrets which our lips tremble to speak.
And our history is a history, we ourselves write.
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