I don’t need an audience, I’m not seeking friends, I’m writing because my thoughts are scattered, and I don’t know what’s in my mind. Somehow fingers and keyboard together translate thoughts into words, not perfectly, sometimes not even correctly, but at lease I can peek into my own mind briefly, like opening up a random chapter of a book. How wonderful it is to get some clarity, even if the clarity is only the emptiness after dumping massy thoughts out to the world.
Oh, but you don’t understand, I could have been so happy, if the mind can quiet down, and let life be. Others look at me, at my life, envy the simplicity and easiness of it. And I cannot complain. I am grateful. I should not be greedy.
But in the middle of the night, I lie awake, wanting to grab my iPad to write down my thoughts. For what? I do not know. As thoughts I have in abundance, and I need not to accumulate more. Could it be that I’m writing just for the sake of writing?