The Jeddah Writing Club met again this Thursday,and due to urgent personal reason I was unable to make it at the last moment :-(. Everyone shared some amazing pieces which I got to read later, some of the girls write enchanting poetry, which I haven't written in a very long time- now I don't think I could write poetry without it sounding juvenile, or like a pop song or both!
Anyhow, here is the piece I wrote- I usually despise writing in first person, in my opinion the words don't flow and I usually end up erasing what I've written. But this time I decided I need to write outside my comfort zone so here it is- honestly it is probably my most emotional piece to date. So you see any writing assignment, blog posts, I seem to find the time and words for them. Unlike the mammoth NaNoWriMo challenge of writing a 50,000 word novel in November-I am way behind.
So without further ado, please read the latest piece- the topic was quite wonderful: words
Please read and leave comments below: I'm doing this to improve so contructive criticism is welcome. :-)
Unspoken Words
You joke away with such ease, while I struggle just to keep my breathing normal. My mind goes blank as foggy numbness engulfs my brain; I begin to forget who I am. It’s an arduous task to connect basic words to form a single coherent sentence-especially with you looking at me with those enquiring eyes. I can barely remember what you’ve just asked me. Just when I need to be at my wittiest, humorous, and bewitching version of myself all I can hear is the pounding of my heart as the blood leaves my brain. How have I turned into a stuttering, reticent, socially-awkward teenager? I despair to share with you my essence, my light. But how could I hold up a match to a bonfire?
When you are gone, ideas flow effortlessly: witty comebacks, flirty remarks, and profound conversation that would last hours. The words are never heard by you, but they are real to me, knitted into the very fabric of my being. But you don’t know that, how could you?
My whole face lights up when you come into the room. I hope that in my eyes, that meet yours with difficulty, you will hear silent pleading for you to sit next to me. With my shy smiles and ready acceptances of your suggestions, I wish to show my whole-hearted submission to your wants and whims...My incessant fidgeting and restlessness is my way of expressing the torture that it is for me to see you. But I know that you don’t see me, no, not really.
How could you? When she’s in the room the rest of our existence loses focus and blends into the background. Her charm is hypnotic, it has always been. When you’ve been burnt by the brilliant sun, maybe then you will turn to the moon in all its pale imperfection. Only then will you feel the quiet beauty in the cool shade of the night. Or maybe you will be enchanted by another brilliant star, another idol to bow down to. But not me, no we both yearn to efface ourselves in worship-not be the object of adulation.
Anyhow, here is the piece I wrote- I usually despise writing in first person, in my opinion the words don't flow and I usually end up erasing what I've written. But this time I decided I need to write outside my comfort zone so here it is- honestly it is probably my most emotional piece to date. So you see any writing assignment, blog posts, I seem to find the time and words for them. Unlike the mammoth NaNoWriMo challenge of writing a 50,000 word novel in November-I am way behind.
So without further ado, please read the latest piece- the topic was quite wonderful: words
Please read and leave comments below: I'm doing this to improve so contructive criticism is welcome. :-)
Unspoken Words
You joke away with such ease, while I struggle just to keep my breathing normal. My mind goes blank as foggy numbness engulfs my brain; I begin to forget who I am. It’s an arduous task to connect basic words to form a single coherent sentence-especially with you looking at me with those enquiring eyes. I can barely remember what you’ve just asked me. Just when I need to be at my wittiest, humorous, and bewitching version of myself all I can hear is the pounding of my heart as the blood leaves my brain. How have I turned into a stuttering, reticent, socially-awkward teenager? I despair to share with you my essence, my light. But how could I hold up a match to a bonfire?
When you are gone, ideas flow effortlessly: witty comebacks, flirty remarks, and profound conversation that would last hours. The words are never heard by you, but they are real to me, knitted into the very fabric of my being. But you don’t know that, how could you?
My whole face lights up when you come into the room. I hope that in my eyes, that meet yours with difficulty, you will hear silent pleading for you to sit next to me. With my shy smiles and ready acceptances of your suggestions, I wish to show my whole-hearted submission to your wants and whims...My incessant fidgeting and restlessness is my way of expressing the torture that it is for me to see you. But I know that you don’t see me, no, not really.
How could you? When she’s in the room the rest of our existence loses focus and blends into the background. Her charm is hypnotic, it has always been. When you’ve been burnt by the brilliant sun, maybe then you will turn to the moon in all its pale imperfection. Only then will you feel the quiet beauty in the cool shade of the night. Or maybe you will be enchanted by another brilliant star, another idol to bow down to. But not me, no we both yearn to efface ourselves in worship-not be the object of adulation.
Beautifully written. Engrossing and painful
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