I don’t want to be forced to write. I’m not, nobody is. It’s a beauty of writing, the freedom to do whatever you want. A beauty that won’t be accepted in many countries. But I get stuck, every time. Even though there is no one reading this, and there is no one who will judge my writing, but it scares me, you know. It scares me that people don’t like this side of me, and that’s why I’ve been keeping it for myself. But it’s hard to put a part of you in an inside prison. It’s torture.
I’m questioning myself, why am I doing this? Why do my stories need to be shared, while I have my journal laying next to me and it will stay there until I die. Maybe deep inside I want people to read my stories and fall in love with it. I hope you love the way I write like I fell in love with the way how my thoughts play with my mind.
I get stuck. I get stuck over and over again. Not knowing what to write because I’m not sure if this is okay.