I wish i could write regularly. I love to write.... i think. To transform my thoughts and imagination into words and watch them fill a page to express my world into something tangible is nothing sort of watching a magic trick being revealed. Something that makes me go, "Oh..! even i can do it". But when i sit down with the specific purpose of writing, its as if my brain turns on a defense mechanism to that singular purpose and i forget all my thoughts that i had so dearly wanted to see and not just feel. Its being tongue-tied in a mental sense...i guess.
I see my friends, people whose blogs i read sometimes and others whom i envy for their literary talents in being able to do something so effortlessly, while i go crazy even to think about being able to accomplish it. Its as if, i am the only dumb kid in class, and i dont have a clue why i get to wear the dunce hat every time.
Then again, maybe just wanting to be able to write isnt enough. maybe to some people like me, it requires us to exercise our brain in order to churn out those passages from our heart, to be feasted later on by our eyes...
