I want to write.
Not because I want to become famous or I want to be appreciated. I don't write in order to show people that I am gifted. Or to let people talk about me.

No, I write because I want it.
I write because I like it.
Because I love it.
Because it's the only thing which makes me feel infinite. Because it's the only thing which shows the truth but also a lie. It's something special, something different.

Every time when I walk through the forest or just on a street, I look at the view.
I look at the sky. And I see colours. I see clouds which move. And they give me something. Something different. Something which I cannot describe with words.
And every time when I watch that spectacle
I feel something. I don't really know what that feeling is and if that feeling is good or bad.
The only thing I know is that it makes me feel something.
And for some seconds the terrible emptiness inside me is away.

And when I get that feeling, I understand something new. I understand my thoughts.
I find answers. I don't even know if these answers are true. But I know that they contain a part of the truth. Because everything in the world, even a lie contains a part of the truth.
And with that feeling I start writing. The words and the letters they just come out of me.
I cannot control it. It's like they're caught inside me and cannot expect to come outside. And the more letters and words and verses and texts arise the more I understand.
And I suddenly understand the feeling I first got.
But there is one thing, one terrible thing which happens every time when I write or when I start understanding. I feel the pain.
I feel the feeling. I feel that broken something.
I feel every single word.
And they're so powerful.
When they leave my inside I feel their single power and this hurts very much.
It's a pain which I cannot describe because it's awful. It's heavy.
And afterwards they leave a scar inside me. The first time when they have left me I feel relieved. I feel empty, but in good way, like a huge weight is brought away from my inside. But then I feel the feeling of every word.
I feel.
And that's so dreadful.
Because I don't want to feel.
Because I actually want to forget all these bad things in the world.
Because I don't want to hear the words anymore. I don't want to see them. I don't want to use them. I don't want to feel them.

But the worst side about that is that I know very well that I also want it. I love writing and
I hate it. I cannot control it. But I know that I will write again. That I won't stop it. Because I have accepted the world and I have even accepted the people in the world.
So why shouldn't I accept the words? Which other chance do I have?
Words are a component of our world.
They are cruel and they are awesome.
They are powerful.
Like everything in the world.
Like everyone.