by Maris Mirovic
It’s a curse, being a writer. You get to walk the clouds of dreams knowing you can never truly be a part of them, since you’re a part of the material reality. You get to question the point of your own existence till you lose your mind. You get to never fit in with the actual world that surrounds you, always aware that there’s so much more to life. Once a writer, always a writer, condemned for life and beyond. But like every other curse, it’s a blessing just as much, maybe even more.
Maris Mirovic isn't a writer. She just has an unhealthy obsession with words.