Today morning I read something that I had written 6 years ago. I still distinctly remember sitting down with pen, paper and sudden inspiration, to write something for the play we were planning to do. I thought it would be a better idea to come up with something new instead of using stuff from long dead writers :-). So I sat down and for about an hour and a half wrote and trust me I would have gone on an on, if the thought to finish it off didn't occur to me. Today when I was reading the same piece, I felt that I can really write, I believed that I can actually be a writer and it is not just some illusion that I am entertaining.
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The allure of Solitude lies in it being perennial
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