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It was in my brokenness that I found her, and once I had become whole again I lost her.

Wasn’t true love supposed to be one of the good things in people? One of the things that actually completed them?

Sometimes it takes a single thing to derail your life. And sometimes it takes a single thing to complete it.

Maybe it’s a person. Maybe it’s a talent. Maybe it’s a thought or some other catalyst for a better behavior.

Here I was studying the difference between being a writer and being an author. I took it upon myself to discover the subtlety and unravel it:

An author is only titled such when he releases some form of work, I said when asked.

A writer is in a state of perpetual and continual writing. Some may even argue the writer is trapped in his own craft.

So I guess that’s what I was: trapped. Trapped in a continuous state of lost inspiration, trapped in a continuous state of agonizing over my work and words. Were they ever going to come down on paper? Will they ever be good enough? Was I fit for the profile of a writer? Was I drunk enough to write? Will any of this ever be published?

All these things, screaming out of me. Yelling and shouting and bellowing from my guts.

No this is not a rant, nor is it a journal entry. I design my own thoughts and follow them through wherever they might lead me.

Sometimes it’s all throughout the page. Sometimes they stop at a paragraph. Sometimes it’s more than that and they circulate into my body and reach my nervous system.

I look into the dark and only see one thing: my white cat standing there. It’s growling and purring and eating its food and playing with its toys. It must be good to be a cat, I thought.

Sometimes.

But not always. Sometimes it’s good to feel, sometimes it’s good to have that cold feeling coming down your spine again. And what about that person I opened my lines with? Long gone.

A phase. Just like other things. Just like finishing school or dropping out of college or pursuing a noble aspiration or having lunch. Phases. Phases that define parts of our lives and parts of our personality. We are the sum of our environment, of our exposure to others and their thoughts. We are the way we treat our pets, our relatives, and even the strangers living close to us.

Hell, we are how we treat ourselves. Take a good look in the mirror and ask yourself: are you being fair to you? Are you being fair to your dreams? Are you being fair to the person you want to be? If you don’t have an answer, well then I guess you’re not looking out for yourself as much as you should. And you should, because the damn governments certainly aren’t. Other people will tell you they will but will eventually let go to. It’s time you start going after what you want and the way you want it done. There, there it is, at the bottom of the page, the purpose of this whole monologue. And it only took a couple of pages to come out this time.

I told you I follow my words. They might be distracting at times and sometimes even confusing, but I log them just the same. Because in rare times, in rare occasions, they might just be useful.

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