I need to write. I don’t know about what. I don’t have a clear idea yet. But something inside me tells me I need to move. I need to go. I need to type.

Because there’s so little time to find the right thoughts. And not get lost inside your mind. Afraid to open up. To articulate.

That would be such a pity! Murdering ideas before they are even created.

Time is a silent assassin. The more you let it pass, the more it corrupts the flesh, it turns your soul into dust and most of all, it fades away your unspoken thoughts. As you grow old, forgetfulness fills your bones and you become inert.

No, instead I need to write something imperfect now. Seize the moment and distill it into something better. I need to release the broken thoughts and unclear ideas upon some sort of canvas. So that I may one day, from afar, see the bigger picture. See the painting of it all.

I will not get any rest until I do that. Until I obey.

I am possessed. Ruthless in my precipice. In the back of my mind, I’m haunted by the idea of not putting these words on paper, about the killer I have become. About the silence I have created.

If a child is muffled from birth, how will he learn to speak?

I need to create. And through creation, understand myself and others. Satisfy my hunger through giving something away. Wash my sorrow with my own tears and sweat.

Because we never create just for others. We’re never altruists in full. Deep inside our souls, our passion is our poison. Sacrifice doesn’t come from passion, but the lack of it.

Passion is an unstoppable force. It’s the wind that bends the trees. It is the fire that burns them. It is not pleasure. It is torment. Because passion is bigger than man. And while it tries to channel itself through our puny minds, it gets distorted. It looses its force. Its full potential.

Man is lazy. Man is comfortable. Man gets tired. Bored. Becomes irritated by old. Seeks for the new.

Instead, true passion burns through all of that. Makes the dead walk again. Makes the sleepers awake. Once it grips you, it doesn’t let go until it’s satisfied. The beast.

And while you lay there, burnt, smoke coming out of your soul, you can’t help but smile.

Smile that you have done it. That somewhere in that frenetic rush, you found courage. You found force. You found inspiration. And you transformed.

Whatever your passion is, whatever breaks your balanced life, let it loose. Use it to mold yourself anew. And when you evolve, through dirt and rock, your passion will make you nobler.

Because this one…this one is for the creators and the dedicated people who pour blood in flame to ignite it better. Bigger. Whole.

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