Should I write for Substack? Or should I write to write?

When words lose magic.

My words, did you lose your magic? Because this would be so tragic.
I quit to write, or maybe I wrote to quit... Or maybe I don’t know what’s happening here.

The external world looks so similar. The internal is still screaming.
Loud. Very, very loud. Can I survive? Can I tolerate it?? I don’t know.

Out of the blue. It comes. It shakes my whole existence. And leaves me wondering what’s next? After a few minutes, I forget that it even happened.

And we go back to living. Until the next wave. Until the next shock.
But living is a big word here. This is not life, not even a good rehearsal.

This is just sitting in the lobby, until the day is over, then saying... maybe tomorrow will be different. Will it? I don’t know.

But words don’t need to know, not now. They just need to ease the pain. To clear the mind. To help me breathe and think. Their magic is not shiny. It’s not big.

It’s calm and quiet. But when it works, it’s extraordinary.
It’s one of those things we can’t explain, we can only feel... I know... Ironic.

We forget the point of words when everything is about stealing attention.
When everything is about playing. Using the right words to convince someone to buy something, or do something, or convince algorithms that our words are worthy.

What makes words worthy? What makes any of this make sense? The chase, the lies, the pain, the tricks, the hacks... the... the... the...

Words don’t lose or gain their power. They’re just here to help us process life. They’re here to help us live.

And they do that when we stop trying to make them into something they’re not. Just to satisfy the needs of a broken system. So let your words be words.

Let them break the pattern, not become part of it. Break the machine, not fuel it.
Only then will we learn how to live again.