Listening to this soothing song, I sat down and wrote a few pages in my diary. Not more than about what life had shown in yet another of its days. Thoughtless, emotionless and barely routine, like set asail upon a silent sea…
It was Listening, the diary… For once later, years and probably miles ahead from where I am now, the pages will cast upon what I was at a point of time or what I aspired to be at that point and what I am now… These fill our lives, my friends… The little gap between aspiration and acquisition, the gap between anger and despair, the gap between happiness and sorrow… And thou may fill in many more…
And when you decide that these pages are worth being read, being shared, you put them to the eyes of the others around you. If they like it, they call you a writer. But do you realize that you were a writer long ago? You were! Only that you never accepted, you never believed. Can you feel, at least something’s along this little ride called life? Then you can portray! Because feeling is everything! Only that some may sound better to yours, but you have your own place. Because you are one of a very few who understands that you can feel…
