Theme 220 - Write

From @visshy_it: They tell me I am too opinionated, too full of myself to be a good journalist. Probably it is time to rest these opinions and take a fresh perspective. Then I put my pen to paper and write. And I forget what the world yaps around.

From @meticulousBlues: 

He: Why don't you write about us in your next book?
She: I'm scared.
He: Of what?
She: Of our love not being understood. If I give our story a page to write itself and leave it in the open,I worry people may call us cowards and our love hopeless.
He: Write,anyway.
She: I may, someday.

From @discopiggu: Her memories revolved around the Gulmohar tree. She bought a new diary to pen down her thoughts. Her childhood, adolescence and her married life was always followed by a beautiful Gulmohar tree standing tall in the garden. Sitting in the verandah under its shade; her old feeble hands held a pen. But words failed her...

From @PennyKinned: 

Take syringe. Insert in vein. Draw deep-blue liquid. Release into ink pot.

Take knife. Carve under heart. Remove rib. Fashion into fountain pen.

Take tray. Breathe soul into it. Bake until sheet is set.

Your instruments are now ready. Write until your eyes water, your heart breaks, your spirit aches.

Tonight, you will write.

 

From @weirdbearddude: Every night she would just lie there, wishing something would change, nothing ever did. She would just sit there motionless, listening to their fights and write it in her diary. That was all she had really, the only thing which listened. A book with empty pages brought solace to her empty life.

 

From @Sourcasm: As she sat down to write the memories they had shared together, her eyes got wet thinking of all that had faded away in time. Searching for a meaning in their story, hoping to find the answers that she was seeking. Experience will explain to her later that her questions were wrong all that while.

 

From @alksmehta: Aryan's mind lingered with thoughts and memories that had once given him life and reasons to live.Today he wanted to write to his love,once again,a last try,may be.But the rolling tears had blotted every word,blurred his vision,as he remembered losing her to cancer,his dreams unfulfilled forever!

 

From @VishalShriyan: The stories bubbled within him. Flooded his mind, coursed through his blood, filled his very being. Poverty had done little to dull his imagination. If only he could write, he thought as he looked at the stumps of his hands. A tear escaped his eyes for the umpteenth time.

 

From @HideASky: Thoughts weighed down by lead. Blunted even. Diary of painfully sketched memories. A chronic ache highlighted with any passing association. A tattoo etched in permanent ink. Bound, till he threw away all the letters she had written to him

 

From @Aaliznat: 

 

Write to forget. Write to remember. Write to laugh. Write to cry.
Write your story. Write your dreams.
Write down your ambitions. Write down your failures.
Write a love letter. Write to yourself.
Write for someone else. Write for no one else.
Write till you can't write anymore and then write some more.
Just write.

 

From @zoarcher: Ashish’s worst fears had come true. His name was dragged into the raging realty scam. Much was written about his involvement in the case. In newsprint. On social media statuses. On blog posts. The written words were overflowing with cries for justice and sensationalism. Only one thing was lost in this clamour. The truth.