Writing and Dreaming and Reading...

Sometimes when I read back what I wrote and I think, "Gosh, I sound like a pretentious bastard."

And if the way I write is how I think. And if the way I think is how I write then how I speak sounds like how I write too.

Which means that it might sound like utter garbage too.

But it's alright. If I ever want to be a write I have to keep on writing, don't I? And if everything sounds bad in the beginning, I know that I can keep on working on it and someday, it would be good, no? I should also keep an eye on these punctuations and tenses. I should try and make stuff work worth reading and share it to the rest of the world. Only then would my genius be recognized and I'd be paid to do the amazing job of writing...

But for now, it's a good thing nobody is reading.

It's akin to dancing around naked in your room. Allowing myself to flex and flounder and rage and emote without judgement. Stretching my metaphorical story limbs in my mind. Reaching within for subjects and random vocabulary that pops out like mismatched socks in an upturned room.