BY indefiniteloop

“You know I am scared of writing; mortified even. Because those words written in ink by me, they may very well just come back to bite me in the ass; that too, without me ever getting a hint of them doing so. Add to that, the fact there doesn’t exists, and cannot exist any form of a contingency plan for it, whence this happens. The only thing I can be sure of, is that they will become my bane. Because, I keep changing; I keep adapting, keep rocking back, and forth, within the realm of possibilities; I do this almost everyday. But my words, they being as stubborn as they’re, and as they will always be, are typed in ink on paper. Thus they will never change, or erode with time. If I do try to write over them, then they will be reduced to nothing but a pile of jumbled garbage. They are frightening again, more so ever, because I consider them as milestones too - Markers of the heights I’ve achieved, and depths I have sunk into. Today, I sit here pondering to myself, if I should burn them all, yet again?” -

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