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What can I do?

I have tried so hard to put into words, the swarm of thoughts running through my head these days. But, I realized, the more I force myself to sit, the more antagonistic they become. They hide themselves in a corner, refusing to come out, despite the threats of never giving them company, ever. And then I realized, with twitter and facebook, my thoughts have learnt to become miniature versions of themselves and that I have little patience to sit and write a word or two about anything. There are stories that whisper themselves in my ears every now and then, those that are sweet, those that are horrific, those that are a work-in-progress. Yet, when I sit to string those words together, they refuse to form a coherent thought. Now, I sit on my bed, wondering what I can do, to open myself up. There was a time when writing was a solace. There was a time when reading was a comfort. There was a time, I could spring up a thought at my whim and go on about it. Currently, though, I see myself as a stranger whose purpose in life seems to be a mystery. Though there are paths unexplored, though there are venues that require attention, I seem to be caught up in a current that has no direction. I wish that things are different, I wish that there is something more I could do, with myself and my life.

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