I Dream When I’m Awake

I read once that writers only write what they know.

I stumbled upon my old, old tumblr and I smiled at what I decided to name my old blog. Whenever I have the chance or when I find the time to look through old pieces of my writing, I always sit with awe at how I was surprisingly really good at articulating how I was feeling at the time, how all the thoughts in my head were just pouring out of my head and onto the paper. I start to recall the feelings of how hard it was to get it down. I constantly look for the right words even if the writing is simply mine and no one else would be reading it. I have the inner monologue in my head over and over again until I feel that I have it just right for pen and paper.

Sometimes the best part about reading my old journals and blogs is reliving that time. Sometimes the worst part is having those feelings come back.

Every time I can’t take the world anymore, I always remember how writing helped me get through it. I have a hard time articulating verbally so writing is sort of my safe haven. I used to think that it was because I was shy or that I was scared to talk but I later learned better. That it wasn’t bad or wrong that I chose writing and words over speaking all the time.

Nowadays, it’s hard to go through life without hearing how you’re bound to get overlooked because you don’t know how to make yourself known. I am still a big believer in actions speaking louder than words. Even if the action is only in writing, I put a lot of trust in that over someone who talks big and never keeps what comes out of their mouth.

Cheers to Wednesday.

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