Snippets of the mind by Gagansvaid

I like it when your eyes keep their firm gaze at me. I know you see in me the inspiration that I see in you, I know we are happy in each other’s company. But then we stop expressing the ingenuity of the feelings we have for each other. You don’t reply to my letters, just the manner I don’t respond to the letters which many school boys and girls send me, telling me that they liked my last novel. I think I deserve it for being so rude and singing so highly of my talent. But you know what, I don’t care whether they still like me or start disliking me. I never wrote to make them please, if all I wanted anything, then it was to earn the tag of a writer. I wanted to tell you that I was good for something in this life of mine. You know why? Because I care for you, I don’t like this nature of mine, but I cannot stop myself from liking you.   I thought you would be proud of me too, the way you sing praises of people who inspire you.. here I don’t want you to sing praises of me, ...

Writing for money, writing for causes you support, writing two-three lines to make yourself happy, where has the writer who wrote senseless articles gone? The long narrative posts saying anything and everything, where have they gone? The countless comma's, the without proof-read articles and stories, where have they gone?  You miss those writings of yours? Do you? What is more important for any person; his passion or sustenance?  You can't drive your passion without firm ground where you stand! For what if the world drifts beneath your feet and you drown.. what would passion do in this case? Here I don't want to prove myself right or myself wrong, I just want to be myself for once.  More than any writer or someone who pretends to be one- I am a human being. I am someone who even if he doesn't know how to write has a life. Yes life. Life as comes with the winds that pass, life that feels broken apart, only to be stronger the next moment.  Life that I...