Saturday, 7 February 2015

Lost in my thoughts

                                              

                                                  I Write But Not Story.


When I write, I write but not story.  I write my emotion. I feel calm, at peace.  I understand things before I didn’t pay attention.  My words confess my feelings and inner thoughts.  There is this kind of magic in the words I write.  No – not only the words I write but what I read too.  That magic is too powerful.  It is able to take me into a new different world.  A world with no end, no limitations, an endless and inevitable world, a world where my life fantasies becomes a reality and my imagination is the only thing holding me back, to the “real” world.  This is what literature is.  Literature makes me loose myself into their world. Their world of reality till I forget about all the difficulties and impossibilities of the world in which I live, the “real” world.  Literature is “driven” me by my imagination as much as it is by the words I write or read.  This is what makes literature unique.  Well, I enjoy theater and films too.  But they are different.  They can of course show me a different world, but the possibilities are limited to what they show on stage.  They captivate my vision and not my imagination.  They do not give me much of an insight into the minds of the characters they display as literature does. 
          What really overcomes death isn’t that piece of literary work or the character in a film.  Rather, it is the imagination created from the words of a piece of literature.  That is why when I am in despair in the “real” world, I just take a sheet, and a pen to write, just anything.  The words of the sheet create in my mind an imagination of a new different world where I feel the whole “real” world with its adversities floats right pass me.


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