It is something expletive, yet, it is something that I can hide in from the cruelty of the world. It will not show its back to me, it will not turn against me, it will not blame me, it will not flee from me, and it will not demand anything from me either. It is just a mirror which shows me everything without exceptions and which will not hide anything from me. The words flashing before my eyes, the mirrors of my failures, my bitter and unquenched desires, my unheededness, and mainly the powerless anger over all undecipherable now's and have to's, they are blinding and much more hurtful than the screen in the darkest room of the house.
Yet, I am sitting before the screen, with tears from day-long glaring at it, watching at tear-curtained pictures. The picture of the man with his back reclining against the the closed door and his head ducked, the picture of the man walking against the high and farmishing wind with his throat cracked and his face burning from the freezing stripes of tears running down his cheeks, and the picture of the man with his family, fleeing from his solitude. I realize, even through the grimy and battered glasses, that I know. I know these feelings; these are the ones I am fleeing from, constantly. Something may be lost undeniably and definitely for me by now which I should have never let go, but the deception and the powerless state I am in suffocated the shame I should feel. I, the "writer," who wanted only to write, who was clean and clever, who had dreams and ideas, I am now weak, broken, empty, and dirty on the outside and in the inside as well.
But I am still writing. I can not stop writing. For some cause writing is something that, even now, is greater than any desires, pictures, feelings, and tears; the things that sweep and hustle the weak like a flood. Yes, the writing will not show its back to me, it will not turn against me, it will not blame me, it will not flee from me, and it will not demand anything from me either. It is a mirror which shows me everything without exceptions and which will not hide anything from me, while the screen and the battered glasses are easily distorted and grounded by any dirt and srcatch.
So I take off the glasses, and clean them, while I wipe my tears away.