Verba volant, scripta manent – Spoken words fly away, written words remain.
I have always been fascinated by words. Wordplay. How words work to the greater, or rather greatest, purpose and how powerful they are. How mere shifting combinations of 26, not more than 26 letters, can be a havoc, can be a savior. Time and again, we all have been reminded that it’s only art and no glory, no grandeur that survives the ravages of time. Be it Shakespeare, or be it Percy Bysshe Shelley. Time spares none. In such a transitory world, constantly moving, changing, living, dreaming, hustling, I want to be a spark. Something more than only a group of molecules, something more than a dying mound of flesh. I want to live in stories. In words. I believe that hearts get broken, and souls are eternal. I want to live in souls. Be an epitome of happiness. And sorrow. Existing together. Like black and white. Like water and fire.
Both worthy, none to be lost.
I want to be found, not to be lost in seven billion dazzling perspectives.
I call myself Ash because I want to be a symbol that even the fraught, even mere ashes, can be beautiful, can make beautiful, and is worthwhile. I fell in love with English long before anything else, and I’m absolutely grateful that this love has only increased like anything everyday. I take myself to be an absurdly confused and still-figuring-myself writer. Dreamer, Logophile. I run into walls and fall. Over speedbrakers, in love. I am not a sarcastic person. I am in a never ending relationship with food and sleep. Book fetish.