Writing. That. I both love and hate it. But it can be just so so so so amazing and great and beautiful even if you are breaking the readers heart, it's still beautiful. And it can be horrible. It can be horrible and heart breaking and hard, it can be a monster. It can hurt you. Your writing can hurt you and it can rip you apart. It can be so senseless to the point you can't take it anymore and you stop. You stop writing, you destroy what you were writing. And it's no longer there, no longer frustrating for a small length of time. For me, when I'm writing, (as it's usually on paper before I type it up) it can get to that point and get to me so horridly that I rip up the paper(s) and leave them. Sometimes I keep the pieces for a little bit, other times it was just too painful. And it kills you. Slowly, painfully, deliberately. And maybe then it's gone, you don't let it stay long enough to finish what it started. It just sits there inside you, and there's nothing you can do. You're stuck. And that's like life. But I'm not talking about life, I'm talking about writing. And yet it's still precious. All writing is still precious, no matter how horrid and uncaring it is or can get. It still means so much. It's that small thing that latches on to you and becomes a part of you, and sometimes you can get rid of it but that isn't easy. Writing can be easy. But giving up isn't. Writing, as soon as you start, it becomes an important piece of you, and you can never get rid of that piece, not ever. You can't destroy it, can't wish it away. It'll stay there, it will always be there. And there's some good to that. It's still there and you can still write. You may not think so, you may think that it's over, but I promise you that it isn't. You have it in you to continue, to start again. You don't need to give it up, you don't need to think or feel that you can't, because you can.