A Window No Doors

The rains have washed away all the streets and uprooted the trees while the grass stays covered with raindrops making the water seep inside the shoe's skin There is a mother who stands at her doorstep She waits for her children to come back cares and cleans their muddily drenched clothes and washes their hair with soap it has taken all her time, to leave her with the thought of nothing but them She cooks daily and listens to dailies this is how she spends her time 15 years later no other care in the world but obsessed with her midlife crisis she has forgotten her dreams were once killed when she got married early all through the years she never once regretted but today when the rains have departed she discovers she could be what she couldn't be and now she wants her children to be The sigh of autumn comes in life when mothers see their dreams through their children's eyes The old man wanted to pursue law instead works in ...

--> Writing is such a daring assignment for which I have always been dragging my feet before. It takes an effort of reading some affirmative statements so as to show the way to an overriding emotion of stimulation along with an instinct to write that emerges out of nowhere and settles in the stomach like little butterflies waving their wings. It makes a woozy sensation, and I constantly think about the statement I was reading a while ago which makes me chuckle at my ignorance towards writing. The audacity to conquer writing what you actually believe in is sometimes terrorizing the same as the thought of revealing yourself to others' skulks before any other thought. Only the fear of exposition stops the pen from moving towards revealing reality but only in reality there is true honesty and substance, while passion knocks on the door. Furthermore, as I continue with this free flow of writing task without stopping to check my misspelled spellings, doesn't matter wha...