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why I write

The best way to describe the reason I like to write is better expressed in a song that I have fallen in love with. It’s called “2am – Breathe” and the part that really touched my feelings is as follows (written as I understand it, there might be some errors here and there)

2am and I’m still awake, writing a song

If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to…

And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd

‘Cause these words are my diary screaming out loud

And I know that you’ll use them, however you want to

I am both happy and sad that I am not able to express it better than this. Sad because of course my hubris would be over the moon to think I managed to put it into words, happy because I know that I am not alone in feeling that sometimes feelings strangle us, suffocate us with their weight. And the writer of this song manages to express it in such a bitter-sweet-perfectly-lovable way.

This is why I write, here, and in my diary, because it sometimes is too much, because it’s ugly – and sometimes full of boogers – and because it’s too hard to keep it inside, and a good friend is not always available, or simply because the things I feel are too private to be shared then and there. So I lay them on paper, and the words hurt a little less with every letter. And I feel a bit lighter, the air flows freer in my lungs and the eyes see just a tad clearer.

And I get to re-read. And that for me is consolation. I don’t get to re-write the story, but at least I get to re-read, to recall and to understand better, to kiss and hug the child that I am and to tell her she’s fine, she’ll be fine.

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