There is art in pain.
I am not the first person to say it. And I will definitely not be the last.
“Take your broken heart; Make it into art” said the late Princess Leia, Carrie Fisher.
Words to live by, indeed.
But what to do when your heart is not broken? How do you make art?
What internal emotions do you harness to bring out on paper the beauty of the cosmos? Can happiness translate as effortlessly as despair? Is it even possible to create a masterpiece if you are not wounded?
Are these even valid questions?
Or is it just me?
As long as I was broken, writing came naturally to me. Darkness was my best friend and my words, my medicine.
I could cut open a bleeding heart and pour out crimson symphonies. The water trickling down the path from my eyes would stop short of falling on the ground, dissipating into the air surrounding me, leaving behind a woeful sigh, pleased in the world of words.
I stare blankly at the pages in front, hoping for the words to find me when I can’t find them. But words elude me.
The energy I used to channel for writing, is gone.
But is that even a bad thing? The reason for my writer’s block is, well, that I am happy.
And in happiness, I find peace. In peace, there is no chaos, and without chaos, I somehow lack the will to put my thoughts into words.
This makes no sense really.
There have to be people out there who are capable of creating beauty out of happiness.
Not me, though. Not yet, at least.
Someday, I would be better equipped to handle this normalcy, this peace.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the stability and joy my life has brought me. Never once have I taken it for granted, nor will I !
It is just that I started writing as a way to deal with my internal conflict. A way to fight my demons. A way to live with them.
It was my coping mechanism, and now that there is nothing to cope with, I don’t now what to do with it.
Am I even a writer if I am not in pain?
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