Unforgiven I believe in forgiveness, in wishing those well who have hurt me. But I'm going to make an exception. Because the truth is, I hope to God you suffer very heartache you put me through. I hope when the darkness comes for you, it will hit you twice as hard as it hit me. And I hope you will curse my name, knowing I was the one who sent it. - Lang Leave Count the number of times I have unforgiven you. For the Universe sake, I could be joking.
I found this piece of writing of George Orwell which suits my definition best of writing. "Looking back through the last page or two, I see that I have made it appear as though my motives in writing were wholly public-spirited. I don’t want to leave that as the final impression. All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention. And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one’s own personality. Good prose is like a windowpane. I cannot say with certainty which of my motives are the strongest, but I know which of them deserve to be followed. And looking back through ...
Seize her. Time to measure me. Look at a deeper, truer image. Memory from 68 years past. Imagination, hearsay, mystery, photographs. Unsaid words, uncluttered thoughts, driven by the wind, caressed by the sun. I see a bony framed child on a bike. I see a monster beside me. Be still. I am so afraid. I see an insecure adolescent. I see a sad faced girl - confused. Who is she?