True to me, or imaginary?
Some pieces of what I post I've felt before. Some I haven't. Is it artificial emotion or just my imagination? Am I allowed to write about such topics? Or am I just overthinking?
The line between these two options is faint; often times I wonder weather I'm allowed to write fiction stories AND non-fiction. Being able to write as if I have experienced something makes me question weather I'm allowed to do so. The emotions are complex; intertwined between my perception of real and fake, saturated or black&white, experienced or imaginative scenarios, and how I view the world all in one package. Sometimes I criticize my creations.
It's easy to forget that the key is to remember that writing is also considered an art form. And true to the reels on Instagram that I've been seeing lately, I can do whatever I want with it since it's "my art" But also, thats kind of the point, being able to write using both experiences I've had and not. These 'limiters' I put on myself won't help me grow as a writer, either.
So maybe, this is the way of letting my mind feel free and of getting my "creative juices" out there. Its like organizing unorganized thoughts in a clear way, through language. Being able to keep filling pages with more ideas and stories truly shows that creative expression is something to be grateful for. This gift we all share, which allows us to travel lightyears away, traveling away from reality just from reading letters on a page. How amazing is that? The big picture, here, shouldn't be missed.
At the end of the day, once I'm inspired by that random couple I saw on the sidewalk, nothing but myself can stop me from imagining the story through words. So let this be a reminder to my future 2024 self- let your reigns loose. Once you do, you'll grow more as an creative artist in both writing AND all the other creative hobbies of yours.
[ Immersed in the gaze of the sun, faint whispers strewn throughout tapestries echo through my mind as I walk into the bustling marketplace. And yet, I wouldn't have heard the raspy, curious whispers or seen the vibrant, handmade tapestries if I wasn't letting myself be free, and letting my mind wander. ]