Sass
Well-Known Member
Ok, so I like to have a place to post my words, even when I'm only in the middle of polishing them. So here are my words of today (I'm writing a book):
'It hurt though, and it was destined for the kind of upheaval and grief that all the literary greats are assumed to have lived, but if they had they would have been too sad – sad to the bones – to write about it. You can’t write beautiful words about pain unless you’ve removed yourself from experiencing it, be it during or after, because then it becomes art, and art isn’t inside you, it lives on the outside. Art is expression shared, whether we like it or not.
I’ve just relegated it to art, and it feels numb. I feel numb.
Imagine waking in the morning, your unruly self entangled with someone so good that they were worth more than you could ever give in return. It began to eat away at me, even as I devoured it.
I was greedy, I took it even though it wasn’t mine, and after it was gone I saw exactly where it had sealed the cracks in me. They reopened, and rather than the light getting in, punishment walked in and sat down in the mess. It didn’t have to say a word. It had its own art.'
'It hurt though, and it was destined for the kind of upheaval and grief that all the literary greats are assumed to have lived, but if they had they would have been too sad – sad to the bones – to write about it. You can’t write beautiful words about pain unless you’ve removed yourself from experiencing it, be it during or after, because then it becomes art, and art isn’t inside you, it lives on the outside. Art is expression shared, whether we like it or not.
I’ve just relegated it to art, and it feels numb. I feel numb.
Imagine waking in the morning, your unruly self entangled with someone so good that they were worth more than you could ever give in return. It began to eat away at me, even as I devoured it.
I was greedy, I took it even though it wasn’t mine, and after it was gone I saw exactly where it had sealed the cracks in me. They reopened, and rather than the light getting in, punishment walked in and sat down in the mess. It didn’t have to say a word. It had its own art.'
