We have a million different people, with completely different personalities, all living in a thousand different worlds, feeling a spectrum of emotions, uttering countless words ever known to man, all of this, trapped inside our single, seemingly irrelevant, soul.
We find it hard to grapple with reality, when the only reality that we know are infused with the makings of our fantasy addled brain, thus rendering the actual world as mundane or just plain boring.
We find it hard to be vocal about a good many things, while, at the same time, find it even harder to keep them bottled up, thus, making writing a curiously calm realm, between the comfort of our thoughts, and the scrutiny of others.
We fall in love, not with physical appearances, but with the thoughts, words, and feelings of a character, making them seem more real, while the people around us reduce to hallucinations.
We strive to bring out the beauty and the terrible truth of something trivial, making it seem like a life is hanging by the thread, just waiting to be nudged over.
We smile at the words that rush out of our hearts when we write, and weep because it is not easy to do the same with people.
We allow words to beat us down, crush our very souls, and break us up into pieces while these very same words are the ones that lift us up from our dark voids, help us spread our wings, and breathe air into our mind’s freedom.
We go places we’ve never been before, laugh along with people we never thought we’d meet, face our fears when we least expect it, cry for the ones who were lost, only to come out, not whole, but completely ragged and patched up in the end.
We see beauty in every flaw, a story behind every scar, a sparkle behind every eye, a misgiving behind every sigh, a mystery behind every look, a longing behind every smile, a purpose behind every thought
a madness behind every mask.
We writers are absolutely, utterly, ridiculously, undeniably and irrevocably,