It has been a while since I poured out my thoughts and
stirred them into coherent sentences. The urge to write tugs at me incessantly,
but there is simply nothing to write about.
In this world where countless voices and ideas compete
for relevance, my words oftentimes ring of irrelevance. The
sweetness of the mundane blends with the bland, leaving nothing distinct enough
to be put into words; my efforts to describe the fullness of the extraordinary inevitably
fail, leaving me staring at a blank page riddled with frustrations.
My attempts to reduce myself to calm have succeeded in
diminishing my capacity to rage, to weep, to fear, to feel. The pursuit of calm has stilled me into
silence.
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