Because. I write.

This is a blog about a blog.

Why do I write?

Because.
Because, I.S, I find it therapeutic. It’s my way of letting the world know. It’s my way of showing people my thoughts, who I am, of inspiring the next.

It was a packed room. They said, afterwards, that the speaker was inspired. That when he spoke, they felt as if it all made sense and it was all clear, and that they felt chastised. And they went out and cut the goddamn tree. But one boy stayed back. He went up to where the speaker stood, completely drained.(For you see, everytime he spoke, he gave something of himself.)

“What’s the point”, he asked, rather plaintively.
The point, son, is that....the point is...the point...
Hope can push a dead man on.

Maybe, just maybe, years from now, or tomorrow- they’ll think of me and what I said- and they’ll change.

I write about random stuff. (Courtesy: Nazia)

More, accurately I write based on specific real-life incidents, conversations, ideas. And people walk in right at the end of the movie and go “ Ooh, Random!”.

I write because I’m looking....for the others: Someone.

And from person to person they passed the paper. It had one word written on it” IGHIHIIIGG”. They could see the beauty of the word but did not understand. They passed it on.

I write whenever I’m inspired, I.S.

Blood and sweat. Blood and sweat. He flung the sword into the tree.
Pull it out.

Show me what you’ve got.

Impress me.

And I write however i feel like.

Because.

It’s my blog.