Everything has a beginning and an end. This is how my search began, the end is quite uncertain yet.
I used to ask myself why I write because I know I can never be quite as good as the people we read. For it to sound a little less futile, there needs to be purpose for my writing and it needs to be read. Art is never just art, and so poetry is never just pretty verses about love.
I’ve long since stopped asking myself that question, because the answer changes with every new piece I write. Sometimes I write because it seems the right thing to do. I am not loud, I can’t quite spell out what I mean unless I write. Sometimes, I write because I feel an insane urge to leave my mark upon the world, however small it may be. It sounds like a fantastical desire and it is. Or maybe I write because I am a pretenscious kid who has nothing else to show for herself. There is no writing on the wall yet, no final judgement. I don’t know why I write or why I write the way I do, but maybe I’ll figure it out.
I guess I can now ask you to join me on my search for venus, for love and for purpose.
in search of venus 