They say writing is therapeutic, perhaps not for everyone. Some may express feelings by painting them out, some share their tales verbally, others gulp them in.That can be dangerous because little by little the misery, guilt and unknown emotions will eat you away. So letting is out is like breathing out carbon dioxide it’s healthy for the mind and heart.

That ink that the paper absorbs are thousands of tiny drops each filled with imponderable forces, inexplicable emotions with a tale to tell, an advice to give and some reality to expose.

The pen, ink and paper heal the heart; tame the mind by absorbing some of the sorrow and lightning the burden of the soul. Thus giving the brain a wider canvas to paint on and setting the heart free soaring between the lines, above and below the pages all which are blank, waiting to be majestically designed by what the heart wills for.

Though not all is what it seems like. Some are addicted to pain, obsessed with misery and adore the feeling of despair. They don’t trust paper and let that habit of theirs lead them to an end that they yearn for.Death approaches and content they feel with their story ending this way for they assumed no other way, remained.

Assumptions, merely on assumptions they build up their life on. Little did they know that those assumptions were never their companion but always the enemy in disguise waiting to sabotage. If only they had somehow let go, let the antidote heal the blood furiously rushing to their heart. Pulled on to the rope of hope or at least not drowned in the self-created ocean of sadness.

To be sabotaged, or not to be, is the question!
Let a clear mind and an awoken heart, let you decide.

accidentallyinked

Date- 27/9/15 Β Time-7:35 pm


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