30/03/21

When I’m older, I want to become rich enough to buy watches and paintings

Today, as all days, are not very exiting. I woke up with the notion that today was going to be a day to change one little thing that stands in the way of me being a better person. I was foolish to believe something so childlike. A wise person once told me that motivation is fleeting, do I have enough to complete the day, and do I have enough to finish everything that is written down in my notebooks? No, the answer is no. Why? Im not to sure myslef. I lead myself to believe that 3 days are nothing in the vast scope of time. I lie to myself constantly when I say that things might get better. I fall into a depth Im not sure I can crawl out of, and I do this everyday and now even I’m unsure whether I’m crawling out ever so slowly, or whether my attempts are being cancelled out by the everlasting pull into what I assume is nothingness.

I want to be able to write. I want to be able to scream words softly on paper and in letters that people I will never meet are able to know me better than the closest people in my life. I want to influence the world with my writing, I want to be like those people I read about, who get so many opportunities from nothing because they are just that great. Can I be someone who makes someone cry or experience an overwhelming blast of emotions with my writing right now? No. I cannot. But I want to do so eventually. I want to learn how to write. I want to express. I don’t want to be stumped over words. I want to become someone who’s word flow out of their mouths, pens and fingers like they have a mind of their own. I want to rule the world with words, because, at the moment, it is the only thing that inspires me to cary on. I want to read books that make me explode, then I want to transfer those feelings to someone else and I want them to explode too. I want to cause a chain reaction that starts with me. I want to…. learn how to structure my thoughts and ideas. At the moment, word vomiting is all I’m doing. My brain feels like a stuffy cupboard with shelfs and piles of notes and books, something akin to a researchers study, but with no organisation and just pure chaos. Please teach me how to write.

Let me learn how to flow with the music. Let me be able to listen and understand the entire world of a musician, how do they become genius’s and why their passion became so inspirational. Bless the people who invented pianos. How did they do it, how did such a contraption even make itself visible inside their minds. It’s a truly remarkable thing isn’t it?

Teach me how to write like a scholar, with a certain sense of ancient dignity but understandable to everyone. Let my words take the readers back to the days of coffee and smudged stars. Let me be a poet with modern words, then let me burst into songs of rainy days and yellow paged books. Drown me in culture and music, and let me finally live the Pinterest life I’ve dreamt of.