Hushed Voices

 " True! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; "  ~ Edgar Allan Poe. Nervous?  Me?  Of course, I was! Sitting in my room, all by myself, and the light was so dim. All through this time,  every word I read reverberated in my ears,  and though were very simple words,  it made me so nervous.  I still convinced myself to keep reading ahead.  Why?  Well,  only because stopping feels harder than keeping at it.  Some weird obsession with the eye of an old man, I thought to myself.  Did it have some mystic powers?  How can it make someone's blood run cold?  Well,  this didn't frighten me at all but there was something else that did.  It was the eye of the one that was obsessed with the eye of the old man.   Of everything else till now,  this made me freeze. " Every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept." It might look like an ordinary thing,  but t...

When there are a hundred other ways to pass time,  a thousand other ways to be productive, and countless other talents that turn heads, do you wonder why I still choose to write? It's because I fell in love with writing. Others might write for a lot of reasons.  They write to earn,  to showcase their forte,  to inform, to manipulate, to bring about some change, to attract attention, or to earn a reputation.  There might be a million other reasons why someone would want to write.   For the people who know me,  you might think you know why I write. It's because I am good at writing,  I am good at the language, and because I simply want to keep doing something that I'm good at.  But that's not it.  I've to tell you,  it's completely the opposite.  I feel I'm not good enough, I feel it's not something that catches the eye or captures the heart.  I feel it'll just be left behind like it's just another pebble on the beach, ...