I do want to be a writer. I still do. But my dairy pages remain blank and so does my head. I read jokes and comedies and sigh. 'If only I could at least write those'. I think about my trip and read travelogues by others and think 'Why can't I do the same?'
I am waiting for that day, I console my poor soul.. that different morning when the the sun will shine and I will wake up with a story all written and edited in my head.
I read Tagore and hate him out of envy, why could he just write like that, the way I drink water.
May be I am not meant to be a writer... May be it is just a thing I tell myself, a person with no goals and ambition.
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