So many things to say, yet so many fears of being unheard.
So many stories to be told, yet so many insecurities for being misunderstood.
That’s why some people write.
That’s why I write.
Cause the words say things I failed to speak.
Things that are too painful to feel. Too heavy to bear. Too deep to dive. Too dark to see.
Too big to keep that it has to be told. It has to be heard.
Hoping that at least there is someone out there somewhere, who would know my story. Who heard my silence. Who learned from my failures. And saw what isn’t shown.
So, is it easier to write than to speak?
Of course not.
To be able to write is a kind of bravery too. Not everyone can do it. Not everyone can have the bravery to tell a story.
A story of the heart. Of one’s heart.
Am I saying that I’m brave?
I’m as coward as you are.
But I’m trying. And you are too.