i want to be the wind.

I can't swim in the silence of you skin; please let me in.

neverxworld:

I was going through my old, unfinished stories this afternoon & re-reading everything that I’d abandoned; analyzing the story lines. Were they bad, or did I just give up for no reason?
The latter is more likely.
Why did I never continue any of them? The farthest I had gotten was 15 pages in. Then the words just cut off.
The truth is, I never had enough discipline to finish anything.
I still don’t.
I had begun the search through my old stories looking for one in particular. One that stuck out in my mind and kept popping up at odd times recently; one that I had actually liked.
But it was nowhere to be found.
Should I keep searching? Or should I let sleeping story-corpses lie and not disturb the ghosts of old ideas?
It may be too frustrating to rifle through the crevices of my brain for the words long ago transcribed.

I’m in a similar position. So much of my writing is left unfinished or barely started, but just recently, I’ve realized how afraid I am of letting things end. It’s why I want to die young—so I don’t establish anything, whether inside or outside myself. I’m scared of rooting myself into something, scared that it’ll break. And in books, I don’t finish books, and I don’t finish my writing, because I am afraid to part with everything, to say goodbye. I don’t know if it’s anything you could relate to, but it’s not always a “lack of discipline.” Don’t be so eager to put yourself down. <3