There was something in the air; so profound yet simplistic at its base. A fogged, blurred thought that struck her with all its mystery she couldn’t help but write it down. The definition to be deciphered, explored, evaluated and finalized to such a degree the resulting words flow with poetic flare. The writer’s curse and blessing, all in one troubled process that could strike with that nearly painful compulsion at any given moment, day or night, the pen not far away from the paper in her pocket. Ideas, scenes, thoughts and emotions formulated completely at random, all housed within a scatterbrained mind unable to hold it all at once.
The life of a writer is impulsive yet secretive, concluding with the quiet result that is creativity.
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