Unheard

[Arthur Miller John]

He writes when the night feels heavier than his own chest,
when the quiet starts pressing on him like a weight.
No one waits for his words,
but the pages still take them, patient as dust.

Still he writes—
because the words burn less
on the page than in him.

His lines hang in the dark like breaths he couldn’t say aloud,
unread, unnoticed—
yet truer for it.

He writes,
because stopping
would hollow him out...

 

[Anshhi]

He writes when the night feels heavier than his own chest,
when the quiet starts pressing on him like a weight.
No one waits for his words,
but the pages still take them, patient as dust.

Still he writes—
because the words burn less
on the page than in him.

His lines hang in the dark like breaths he couldn’t say aloud,
unread, unnoticed—
yet truer for it.

He writes,
because stopping
would hollow him out...

When writing becomes more than a hobby, it becomes as necessary as breathing, that's when such writing is created. The fear that if you stop, you'll become hollow inside—this is the real driving force of a writer.

Awesome Intelligence™​