If I was standing alone in a desert, I wouldn’t be the type to take a cactus needle and pinch my own blood out of my hand so I could write on a leaf about my current position. Because I can’t do this alone. Being in my room with my journal and macbook ready to be written in just isn’t my style. I hate it when it’s quiet. If I was the only one left on this earth I would, just die. But if there was one person on the other side of the planet, thinking they were the last person on this earth too? Well then.. I’d take a knife and drag it up my leg and write about a girl who loved hype, more than life. And write about a past love that I can’t get passed. I’d carve faces into boulders and maybe that person on the other side of the world would pass by. And wonder if there’s someone else out there. When that person and I find each other, it’ll be... shit, it’ll be great.
I don’t write for myself. I write so that other people may feel what I had felt. And tell me about how they feel. And how I could cope with my feeling, or encourage my feeling. Tell me if they feel bad, or tell me if they just burst with hapiness.
I prepare a meal of words because I love to write.. but I don’t cook dinner for a million.. and eat alone.
Have a seat. - God is Love
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