Between Dinner and The Morning After



Four hours into the new year and here I am whipping out a tab almost by instinct and then proceeding to pound on the keys like a madwoman attempting to comprehend her insanity.

It’s wonderful being able to write again. If there’s anything I am sure to never give up on, it’s this love affair with blank pages. It is just ¬†amazing how people claim writers are masters of language, when in fact all we do is arrange and re-arrange words in our heads until they make some sort of sense — maybe not to everyone else, but at least to us.

Let us keep telling stories old, new and yet to be given birth to.


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