Saturday, 2 November 2019

A writer


Paper was scattered across the ground of the room, some of the paper was ageing over time, others were crumpled and tossed in any direction, nothing, but a single lamp lit up a small corner where the desk was and from the desk to the floor, the ceiling was drenched in writing. The writing was everywhere and was being mass-produced by a sleepless person with entire another world in their head, they're trying to write it down and the words turn into sentences into paragraphs then into chapters then into nothing as they move on to create another world.

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