There is a certain beauty to pain.
It is so much easier to write about
things that hurt us and leave us
paralysed with dread. As if all the
bad flows out with our pen on the
paper and the blackness of the ink
reassures us there is something even
darker than the thoughts that occupy
our minds. And there is no way to
tell if writing down the bad will
actually get us rid of the bad, but
we try anyway because we have
nothing else to lose. Writing down
our feelings is pretentious.
But it helps. Sometimes it helps.