Category : Diary/Journal

Sub Category : N/A

I try to talk, 
but the words get stuck. 
They linger on the tip of my tongue, refusing to come out. 

I open my mouth to speak, 
nothingness fills the room. 
Silence rebounds off the walls. 

My insides, 
screaming to be heard. 
Yet, 
I swallow the words. 
Again. 

I don't know how to express them. 
I can't explain exactly why. 
I guess I am afraid of your reaction. 

Meanwhile, 
thoughts plummet to the pit of my stomach, 
like giant lead balloons, 
where they sit and fester, 
piling up like traffic jam, 
next to the landslide of unexpressed emotions. 

I get that familiar sinking feeling. 
The swirling. 
Contorted madness. 
The consequence of repeated suppression. 

It's so overwhelming. 
Devastating. 
Heartbreaking. 

Still, 
I need to get through to you somehow. 

But how? 
I write.


I write to release these thoughts off the top of my head before my mind gets buried underneath. 

I write because I can't make the words come out from my mouth like they do from my pen. 

I write to let my voice be heard so I can reach all the places I want to go. 

But trying to master the balance between saying too much and too little can feel like sitting on a see saw; slipping and sliding between the poles of two extremes. 

I am desperately searching for an in between. 

And because of that, 
this is why I write.