Thursday, 26 December 2019

ex.ist.ential love of life

I've been writing this piece called Trouble '99 since early spring. I read the draft from start to finish this week and realized it's a shade too depressing. Which corresponds to one of my three beta readers' critique. And I was discouraged when I got to the end: this is not my message. I need for hope to shine in the lines! Yes, my work is always threatened by the existential draught. I have wrestled in my heart with this since I was a child. I remember the day on the swingset in the backyard when the limit on life first struck me. So words naturally come out of me mournful. What is absent but implicit in my sadness? How much i love the world and all its intricacies. How badly I wish to live on!

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