When we are in love, we are convinced nobody else will do. But as time goes, others do do, and often do do, much much better.
He offered her power, money, status...a giant prison, all in exchange for only...her soul.
We let ourselves loose on that simple blank piece of paper, and our bodies spill. The terror, the loveembodying our stories page after page. In a sense, the pen was our tongue, it is how we delineate the world.
Writing is hard. Not as hard as not writing.Not writing is torturous, bloody, chaotic and a gruesome winless battle.A writer who writes, knows peace, lives connected to truth.Not writing is ache, betrayal, death of the soul and imagination.
She knew she could never love any man the way she loved a blank sheet of paper that only she could fill.
She stabbed him with her wicked pretty knife, disrupted his simple life.She's a player, a heartbreaker,and now she breaks alone.
Writers do not have the privilege of sleep. There is always a story coming alive in their heads, constantly composing. Whether they choose it or not.
Copyrighted © 2020 — Quotation.io. All rights reserved.