All I’m left with is this title, whilst the actual post that I sent for publishing vanished without a trace. My draft was empty, as though it was just a dream. Unfortunately, for the life of me, I simply couldn’t rewrite what I wrote earlier. It’s not the same anymore. It doesn’t feel right.
To me writing is like capturing the moment at the precise time. When the words flow, you keep going until the end appears on its own. A writer becomes the vehicle that enables the narration to take shape. Be it beautiful or ugly, that depends on the interpretation of the ideas throughout the writing process.
Because of this, I can’t bring myself to share the same story like the one that went missing. I felt cheated and upset by the whole incident. Am I overreacting?