Doce

Sometimes I indecently feel I shouldn’t share anything. That I should be selfish and therefore keep the thousands of worlds I’ve been creating locked away on my mind forever. Because there’s something intensely painful about sharing, especially when the reader is a person known to me. I somehow believe I put myself into words, whichever the theme is. Maybe that’s why I am so reluctant about letting others read my words in front of me. There must be someone out there who I might have slightly kicked for opening a document – creative writing, of course! – made by me. There’s something frightening about people’s reaction. And it doesn’t really matter which reaction it is – even though, laughter will always be the harsher one. There’s something about this reaction I want to step away from, since the words on the paper are no longer mine – and maybe no soul but mine can understand this paradox.

But there’s something terribly scary about writting to myself and hidding my words on the drawer. I do believe the fastest and most effective way of producing good ideas is by discussing them with other human beings. It makes one grow faster and notice mistakes that, otherwise, would go unpunished – for the writers sometimes get lost on their own logic and world and everything’s so familiar to them they no longer see the flaws. Maybe there are, somewhere, people who I’m able to share my stories without feeling scared. Maybe sharing, or even such people’s reactions, aren’t so painful. Or maybe it is possible to say to said people to react in some place far away from me! And let them come, later on, when they’re no longer hot-headed, so we can discuss the subject like it deserves. Just like it is usually said, there are thing we’d rather not know. I don’t know what’s so scary about having people reading my words live. Maybe I’ll never know and maybe it’s better this way.