Someone once asked me if I was a writer and I turned my head to the side, pursing my lips ,contemplating on the best dramatic answer I could give. "I'm beyond that" I finally answered. " I'm a blend of the sleepless nights, the early riser, the one who drinks tea before she thirsts for water. I skip breakfast only to fantasize about it on my work desk for hours. Lunch consists of desserts and a bunch of nonexistent theories of life spoken with random people. Deadlines are met with grimaces and grunts, evening snacks are devoured with countless cups of hot tea and oil fritters. The TV drones on but I listen to the tired voice inside of my head, my pen hovering over the blank page. There is so much to write but I jot down the words my readers want to see. The rest, I watch them churn my insides and drive me to the verge of insanity."
You see I'm a cluster of repeated nightmares, chapped lips and disheveled mess,broken tea cups scattered below my bed,unfinished poems and stolen stories, I'm the rage, I'm the sea.I burn things down and I water them, hoping they would grow back into life. So there's no going back for me, I'm taking the world down with my words, every little bit .