Bookmark #271

If I don’t write a word today, the sky won’t fall. If I don’t string another sentence, the world won’t stop spinning. Like all before me, I have little say in the matter. Of course, you will continue to read regardless of whether I write or not. You may find more words to read—better ones, perhaps. At least, I’d hope for it to be that way for I have little left to say. I never had much to say anyway.

If I don’t stain the page with another blot of illegible ink, nothing would go wrong. In fact, much would go right. It was the curse of a writer to unknowingly change the course of history. A word here, a phrase there, and down went the dominoes. We could never know who we affected, of the damage we did; and yet, we did not concern ourselves with matters of the world.

It was a selfish desire—to write—to tell the world we thought a certain way; that it was important enough to be recorded and essential enough to share. It was an exemplary pursuit of being in over your head, believing you had anything worthwhile to add to the deep wisdom of the world you happened to breathe in. The truth, however, was that all words to have ever been written were written already, and all anyone ever had to say for anything remotely important to life had been said countless times over.

To write was then shouting into the void: I have something to say, too. Won’t you listen to me?

Writing reeked of hubris, of thinking you could sway others to the way you saw things, the way you saw the world. It was arrogance. It was a declaration of war against everyone who came before and everyone who came after. It was an echo through time, screaming: I was here.

If I don’t write today, nothing would change. If I never wrote a word again, the world won’t miss it. There were far too many of us. Why, then, am I compelled? I often wonder. Do I have something to say or is it just empty pride, bleeding on the keys of my keyboard?

Ticking and tapping and ticking and tapping and ticking and tapping until the end of my days, repeating the same song over and over and over again: I was here. I was here. I had something to say.

If I don’t write today, would I still be here?

Would anyone believe me?

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here