Licentiousness is something I never imagined I'd take some form of pride in. That's quite shameful, this desire to be special.
I yearn to be different, normally I'd think of a more striking or eccentric word to describe my feelings but the simplicity of said feelings does not warrant anything grandiose. I have everything I could ever ask for yet– suicidal, diabolical, heartbreaking, gut-wrenching emotions pervade my pieces. All of them, I think. I speak only about the pieces I've written, let's not even address the thoughts in my head.
I write like I have nothing to lose, and I have accepted defeat. I'm not fighting to live but to let the world know I lived, to show me pity and compassion. I detest where I am mentally. I'm at my peak. My talents won't get any better the way I am now.
Silly but I think that's what terrifies me most, what if I'll never be better than this? What if this is as good as I'll ever be? I know how unsatisfied I am now– trying to visualise how I'd look if that were the case is making my heart ache, I know writers are fond of exaggerating but I wouldn't lie to you, about this at least. I've lied about a couple of things but not this, never this.
'At least I'm something now' this idea sedated me. I grew comfortable, writing was just an escape. Now it is a dream, I must abandon this idea.
I love this so much it cripples me. The uncertainty of my magnum opus keeps me on the edge of my seat, the fear of its existence keeps me staying on that edge, dilly-dallying with fate and destiny. I don't want a magnum opus, I want to evolve forever yet we all know that's impossible.
BUT IT'S MY DREAM!
"The one who constantly grew, evolved. Not a single piece is worse than the previous, always better. A confident yet kind man. One of a kind."
I want all those words to be said about me in my museum a hundred years from now. I am no astronomer but on the 17th of August 2024, the moon told me the stars have a message for me.
"We've travelled across every crease and crevice of the universe multiple times but tonight, we found something new. A text inscribed on the fabric of the universe, in-between the non-existent space of the void that paints the grand yet beautiful vast emptiness of this cosmos."
I wish I could share those words with you but I can't remember.
I forgot.
I forgot those words, one of the worst cases of writer's block I've ever faced. This time I might kill myself but I won't, the world needs me, I need me. A licentious writer like me can't just fade away with so many wonderful stories and ideas waiting to be told. I must go on. I am gifted and important and I have to prove myself, because if I don't all that's left of my words, of me– is grief and dread and hurt, insecurity and anxiety and pity, despair and fear,