Breeding Lucidity: I want to write.

I want to write about so many things. To put down in words everything that matters and some that is frivolous but seem interesting. I want to write down a few things so that I will never forget. Never forget to not repeat the same. And a few others so that I will have a reminder of all the goodness and warmth of memories and moments. Then there are a few things that need a venting. Some words to articulate the angst and frustration. To let off steam. And then be forgotten. Things that remind me to appreciate the good things I have make up for quite a bit of the rest. These are coupled with a few others that need to be relived, if only through words.

I want to write. To remember. To forget. To vent. To relive. To appreciate. To feel connected and to connect every disparate part of my life. And I want to write to contemplate. To introspect. To comprehend the vicissitudes of life, its fairness, its quota of hope. I want to write. But words...they refuse to be written down - as though nudging me to tempt fate. For what I want to write about is fait accompli.