I love to write;
I love the way the pen moves across the page;
I love the illegible scribbles of my mind;
the formation of words, from the complexity of thought.
The arc and structure of letters, replicating the emotions within ones soul.
Every beat of the heart, typed nimbly by a finger, upon life's keyboard;
passionately transforming thought into reason.
Words transport us to another time, another place;
The pencil is our portal to another dimension, an expression of our schizophrenic mind.
I love to write,
I love to read,
I love to absorb myself in a blanket of beautiful words.
Entwine my thoughts with those of the character;
Exist in another life, if only for a moment;
Absorbing every thought, every emotion, every beat of their heart.
I want to feel what they feel, empathise;
see what they see, visualise.
The instrument of writing creates art, creates a world of imagination, when in the hands of a scribe.
*any critique welcome as trying something different.
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