Often when there's so much we wanted to say,
is the time we're unable to say anything.
And we end up writing down words that seem to only convey half of what we wish,
though in reality the meanings run deeper than the words spoken out.
I wonder how many people can read the emotions of the writer,
exactly the way it was felt.
Or perhaps that is impossible.
Empathy is never really 100% for most of the time.
And they are written down to convey something,
yet somehow the effort is futile..
For we always see things as we are, not as they are...so as with words.
And the beauty of the prose lies in its mystery.
For when people think they have grasped it,
is when they actually don't.
Or maybe they do.
As far as I'm concerned,
My thoughts are in pen..yet somehow, it is incomplete..
For my thoughts run deeper than the things I could ever say..
And everything remains a mystery..
At least I write.