Writing for writing's sake

I never realized how much I loved to write, at least in things like these. I miss it, honestly. From those everyday rambles to the deepest thoughts that I tried to share. I think I stopped because no one cared to read my daily happenings or just because it wasn't the "cool" thing to do anymore.

Either way, you don't know what you've got until its gone. So, while the whole blog thing was absent from my life, I started to miss it. There have been many instances where I would sit idle and just think. Think about almost everything and everyone. Finally I would come to the realization that I should write about it. Only to come to the other realization that "I deleted my xanga" which felt a lot more like, "I deleted my heart". Which only makes my heart sink deeper only because I had a lot of stuff written on there. It's like the history of my developing/expanding mind. It was my archive, and now I can't go back and look at it. So in a sense, I really did "delete my heart".

I remember the exact feeling though, you know the feeling you get after you write your heart out on a piece of paper. Every word and every sentence belongs to you. It was almost like, the blog itself was an extension of your soul. Like, you copied every thought running through your mind and then just pasted it onto a sheet similar to the likes of this one (or this one in actuality).

Or maybe, it's a kind of mirror. Where you read what you write, but instead of seeing a physical part of yourself, you see an intellectual. An intellectual that you can relate to, honestly, I think you can seriously get to know a person more intimately if you read things that are written by them. I mean, a mirror is a mirror and damn the person who said "the eyes are the portals to the soul", BULLSHIT. No, it's one thing to "see" a soul, but it's another thing to feel one. Where do you think the phrase "I feel you" came from? When you read something, theres more intimacy there. At least, thats how I feel.

Writing to me was the epitome of a true thinker indeed. I'm just someone who couldn't escape his own thoughts, I needed to get away somehow. Released in the form of words, without any hindrance from society and its poisonous opinions. Thinking for thinking's sake and writing for writing's sake.

After everything's said and done, you clean up the blood that you spilled onto this damn thing and hope your heart fits back into your chest. You then read it, and all of a sudden you say to yourself "DAMN MUTHAFUCKA I wrote that shit, hence, I MUST BE THE SHIT". Feeling so proud of every witty metaphor you have just made. (as well as you know your improper use of grammar and slang terms thrown about recklessly, which would cause any readers IQ to drop significantly.) Such statements and a burst of emotions only lead up to feeding that fat ass ego of yours. I don't know about you, but that's how it always was for me. I felt like the shit when I wrote.

I miss this shit.