I write, since pages are sadly better conversationalists than Humans could ever be

I write, because people are incognizant of what it is to converse with each other nowadays; sure sure we talk with each other, vomiting worthless words in midst of storms of attention and validation deprivation, but have we ever learned to converse with each other? Like truly going about a conversation, live in the conversation, questioning and dwell about what’s said, not what’s heard.


I write on a screen because we conditionally ask “ The Whys” anymore, we only take “The Whos, The Whats and The Hows” and bottling all these Whys are filling up spaces that could be filled by others’ Whys, but our incapacity to ask, will always have us incapacitated to receive.


I write things down, because their weight is too heavy for me to detain in my mind, as I’m cultivating a free land for contentment, understanding and present calmness; it holds no prison nor hostage, no room for remorse nor room for regret.


I write, because its climax is closure. Once something is black on white, it’s harder to view it through shades of wounded emotions and easier for me to conquer forgiveness, clarity on the situation and relinquish of the guilt, self-doubt and disappointment, remnant to expectations I held too high for someone who couldn’t care to fetch a ladder.


I write, because somewhere somewhen someone will read these pungent words and recall the yearning. 


I write with the hopes that one day the person I’m writing this to, will understand the depth of repercussion to their actions, and lack thereof, contemplating on why the “could’ves”, remained “wouldn’ts”.


So many questions unasked and some more unanswered, a vaulted mouth at the mercy of depth and honesty, pillars undyingly imperative to the survival of a trustworthy and fully lived relationship, which leaves me wondering “ How can someone be so reticent and swear to living a happy life? “


How chaotic and mind altering must be the road to each thought, when there’s remorse, resentment, worries, disappointments and negativity roaming around as free man, in such a precious and tight space? 


How obese must be a brain that withholds all those outdated and redundant emotions and grudges, weeds and all. A wild garden with too much potential to be buried under all that mess, still fighting every day to catch a breath of light, creating endless turmoil and conflict of interest, drawing a path to monotone sadness, grief and depression, dimming all sparkles of light, newness and hope in Happiness and contentment.


I write, since pages are sadly better conversationalists than Humans could ever be.
High school dropout, who emigrated from Italy to London in 2019. Spiritual being who confidently made her way to a life of contentment, freedom and individualistic thinking, in an illusive world.

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