A few years ago, a friend asked me why I didn’t write much at the time. I told him I needed a certain level of sadness to be able to write. After a brief chat he told me that while he doesn’t wish for me to be sad, he’s certainly looking forward to reading more of my writings.

I think I go through a creative slump every time I’m actually happy or at peace. I’ve nothing to say, no words to express and nowhere to escape to. My only sadness then would be that I can’t write anymore. And that’s not enough to make me start writing either.

It’s almost as if I go on this self-destructive path by tormenting myself, living in the past and licking my wounds just so I can write again! For every 3 months I’m happy, I spend the next 3 years feeling miserable; which means for every 3 months I don’t write, I spend the next 3 years bleeding through my words.

So, while others may not wish to see me sad, I think I certainly do because the sadder I am, the more I write.

© 𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖍𝖆