What if I can’t write anymore?

My hands won’t stop trembling. The brain is draining. Fingers are freezing.

What if my words turned to ashes? Where is that confident I have for my writings? Why is every time I tried to write, I come to hate it even more?

It has been long time since I actually wrote something and it’s alarming.

Ugh, finally I can get it off of my chest.

This kind of thing, people named it ‘writer’s block’. But I don’t think I’m such a writer to have that feature to justify what I am right now. I just feel bad for myself, that’s all.

What if I lose myself that I cherish too much?

The thing is, there are so many things I want to write about. And when I think about it again, it’s actually so little? It’s all over the place now, those words are mainly butchered all over my twitter, like an impulsive garbage pervading my account. I feel bad for my friends and my followers.

What makes my words?

I think about this a lot. Sometimes I feel like, I should make my words rhymed or that they should sound beautiful. Weird because I mostly feel touched by simple, uncomplicated words. What if I tried so hard to make it sounds complicated — or even sophisticated — unconsciously? And why would I do that?

I come to conclusion that I’ve wasted my time enough to think why I can no longer write instead of actually writing.

I’d always wanted to write a book. I still do and let us call it a dream instead of a goal. But I don’t know what to do, what to write, when to start. It’s silly because technically, I know the answers for all those questions but mentally I’m not in the right place. Can I finally give birth to a book, at least one, before I die?

I need something to push me to write.

Even this, I need something to induce me. Even when I write for myself, I can’t seem to find satisfaction. Why I am so difficult to satisfy?

Now, this is I will probably say to myself:

Write anything. Write anything at all. Words after words, I think your words are precious. Sometimes it will be bad, another day it won’t be able to satisfy you as much. Even then, you still write.

The same phrase I will tell you, too: but you still live.

And as long as you’re alive, you still can write.