Catch 22

There has been a feeling of pensiveness looming about me of late. Yet no matter how many times I try to coax myself to begin, no words seem to come out coherently when I put pen to paper.

I think perhaps it is this overwhelming pressure I feel to ensure that the words that do come out are perfect: perfectly describing all the thoughts jumbled up inside my head, perfectly encapsulating everything I want to say and everything I want to feel.

Maybe it would be more accurate to say: no words seem to come out coherently enough.

And so while I am teetering on the brink of desperately needing to write something – feel something it’s scary to recognize that it might eventually not be enough.

So I hesitate. I stop. And I don’t start.

But I am tired of chasing perfection.

So what if my words are not enough to capture everything I wish to say? To be able to express just a tiny fraction of the inner workings of my mind – I cannot possibly be worse for it.

I want to chase the sunrise instead.

I want to feel the fingers of the wind in my hair, and condense every colour of the sunset into the palette of my life.

I want to follow the sun.

Of course, I am always more reckless when I am tired. I make the craziest of decisions when really, I should be in bed.

But on writing – and on feeling – I hope I remember how cathartic it can be to just go, and to just live.

Is there a conclusion to this even?

I don’t know.

I think maybe, for once, I just want to write. With no real structure and with little regard for the conclusions. I just want to write.

And see where it takes me next.

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