Wednesday, 6 March 2013


That's the beauty of writing. You start writing and time starts to disappear from you, sliding off your fingertips in patterns and waves cannot ever again replicate. You start writing, and the world grows darker, nothing matters except finishing this one piece. There nothing as frustrating as having a piece and not being able to finish it with a happy ending, Maybe. You put it down but your fingers plead and your mind roars, telling you to just write one more sentence. One more sentence which could finish it, or leave you there crying for a release of writing. Cream meets black or fingers glide over the keys and suddenly, everything is taken and you cannot get your mind off it. It's an art form. Not melody and words melding together, nor is it a paintbrush caressing the smooth canvas but it is an art form all its own. 

Writing is a drug, and I am the perfect tool to release the joy and pain it brings. 

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