Dear Cigarette,

you stink.

Once, I enjoyed when we were together. You were a good friend in times of need – always relaxing, always understanding, but for me, these times have long since come to an end.
Over the years, I have grown tired of you – but no matter how I try to show you the door, you still refuse to leave.
I will keep trying… and maybe one day, I will be strong enough to kick you out once and for all – for you, my former friend, are an unwanted guest.

Sincerely,
The Addicted

Dear Dishwasher,

It has been years since I last saw you and could greet you as a friend.
I think of you – think of the times I moaned and rolled my eyes whenever we had an encounter. I often pushed your buttons – and you were always forgiving.

People change.
I took you for granted and feel the need to apologize for the way I treated you. I was young and didn’t know what I was doing. I am so sorry.
Now, that you’ve been gone for so long, I can honestly say: I miss you. Dearly.

I am certain my dishes do not appreciate me invading their privacy every day – I often have to touch them in the most intimate places… it leaves us all feeling uneasy. Most of the time, we can’t even look each other in the eye afterwards… talk about awkward.

I want you to know that I can’t stop thinking about you. I saw your cousin at my friend’s house the other day – he looks a lot like you.

Perhaps one day, you will find your way back to me.
I will look for your coming.

With gratitude,
the Rueful

Dear Day,

I assume you think it’s fashionable to consist of nothing more than 24 hours.

Have you ever considered a prolonged visit? Perhaps 30-32 hours would be more fitting and might even underline your qualities in a more beneficial way – plus it would give us time to tend to things that really matter.
Less isn’t always more.
Sometimes I wish you would rethink your methods and grace us with your presence a little longer than deemed necessary.

I would ask of you to think about it.
Should you be willing to consider my request, I would be more than happy to schedule a meeting with the Sun and Moon to discuss cycles. I am positive we could come to a satisfactory conclusion for all parties involved.
Thank you for your time – I know it is precious.

Sincerely,
the Rushed

Why We Write… The Revolution of the Written Word

“A word is not the same with one writer as with another.  One tears it from his guts.
The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.”
~Charles Peguy

Why do we write?
This question has been on my mind ever since I picked up the virtual pen and started blogging.

Do we write to express the turmoil inside of us?
Is it because we want to be famous, to be known for creating something the world won’t forget?
Do we want to share our experiences and thus help others, who experience the same, to be more informed and prepared?
Is it to prove to ourselves (and to others), that we can construct something, a piece of art people will admire?
Do we write because it’s therapeutic?
Do we write to inspire?

For me, it’s probably a bit of everything – and I am sure we all fit into these categories… more or less.

letter writing skillsI started writing because I felt the urgent need to organize my thoughts, to sort through the chaos in my head and make it palpable – one outburst at a time. It felt so good to have found a way to express myself – and it still does.

Sometimes the spoken word fails.
We can’t say what we think in public, because it might be inappropriate, hurtful or otherwise improper. We can’t say what we think because it just hurts too much to hear it spoken out loud. We can’t say what we think because we fear that others might judge us – unjustly.

This is where the written words comes in.
When we write, there are no boundaries.

I have always been drawn to Poetry – and that’s exactly where I started. I admired poets for expressing themselves and their art through this ‘reduced’ form of writing, was fascinated how raw emotion and deep thought could be compressed in such a way and yet be so utterly powerful – and, to my surprise, I found that writing poetry worked for me as well. Slowly, I began to see that I, too, had a voice… and that it was worth hearing.

After writing a couple of poems and publishing them on WordPress, I discovered that people actually liked what I had to say. This led me from writing for purely therapeutic reasons to experimenting. I branched out, joined a Poetry Prompt Site, started writing in form – just to see what I could do.

I read.
Read… and wrote some more.

For a while, I was content with writing and reading poetry, but soon I got curious to find out what else was in me – what else I hadn’t uncovered. I started writing stories and essays, fictive and non-fictive pieces… and to this day, I am still developing, eager to conquer new frontiers.

ideaIt is truly astounding how people can spur you on… inspire you, encourage you to broaden your horizon; to step out of your safe hiding place – just by sharing their work. You see something… a word, a sentence, a paragraph – and an idea gets born. It takes hold of you, captures your every thought, until there is nothing left but to write it down; to see how it develops on paper.
You breathe life into sterile thoughts and let them unfold, disentangle.
You let them take over… and the process in itself is beautiful.

We live in a world full of restrictions and rules.
Freedom of Speech is still a delicate subject depending on where you give voice to your opinion – it shouldn’t be, but it still is.
I encourage you to enter a world free of bonds, where your imagination has no limits.
I encourage you to get to know yourself, and see what you can do.
Write – and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to ignite a spark in others.

I write because it helps me sort myself out.
I write because I love to see what I can do, what I can accomplish.
I write because I want to inspire others the same way I was inspired.
I write because I can get to know my own voice.

How about you?

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photo credits: british-legal-centre.com; aucegypt.edu

Promises

I do not sleep with my eyes open.
Sometimes, I wish I could.

Yet another night facing the stars, where it seems sleep is on vacation; getting drunk on a sandy beach or attending an office party, hat askew, sitting on the copier – somewhere far away.
Thoughts are in a chaotic, yet oh-so-familiar swirl and it seems I have no choice but to extract them and bring them to virtual paper.

Promises.
This word has been on my mind. It echoes through the night, through my head, through my being… leaves me breathless at times – tonight, it leaves me sleepless.

Promises…
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
I often wonder who came up with the idea to “promise” something – I wish the promise was never invented.

We all know it.
A promise is given – and we believe. Believe, that the person who extended it, will do everything in their power to live up to it. Yet, promises rarely work out anymore, almost never grant us the outcome we wish for.
But we still believe in them.

Promises must have meant something once, or they wouldn’t have remained strong, despite the passage of time.
Once upon a time, a promise might have been sacred.
Today, they are mostly empty. meaningless. futile…
And I wonder if it’s tradition’s fault we now extend them so casually.

I still believe in them. I am one of the naive when it comes to honesty.
I believe in the good in people.
And i have the scars to show.

Promises are a mystery to me.
I can only hope they will one day find their way back to the roots…
Or extinguish, never to fail again.