I do not know what to write about, but I am still typing. My mind is empty, and my thoughts have disappeared. I do not know where writing this will lead me to, still I do have a hope that it will reach me to the disappeared thoughts of mine.

But, what if I disappear in the hope of finding my lost thoughts? What if my thoughts never disappeared and everything was just an alliteration of something that was nothing? What if I never comprehend this.

Will I be then able to write. Write like I used to. Will they still read it, as if they want to?

Can I answer these questions of my empty mind longing back for its thoughts which are filled with insight?

If I do answer, then would that do justice. Justice to one’s opinions. Opinions that do justice to one’s moral and values. Moral and values that do justice to one’s character, which is mine.

For me it is crucial. It is crucial to fill my empty mind that was once deluged with thoughts and knowledge.

For they it might not be crucial. Since they take wisdom and insight for granted. Therefore, living with an empty brain is what they are used to. I see that when they utter words from their mouth. Words that are empty. Words that do justice to their empty brain that is filled with nothing.

Still, I am typing...

I wrote this in the hope of reaching to my disappeared thoughts, but little did I know that they never disappeared from me. They are eternally there, submerged inside my mind. For a moment they became unclear, but now they are like crystal sparking thru my vain.

These are the thoughts that a writer like me carries in her soul, while writing down her goal.