Writing doesn’t only take me to other worlds, it makes another person.

When I write (let it be stories, poems, an essay or a presentation) I’m this confident woman who is in harmony with herself even through tears, pain or the arduous use of dictionary. Sometimes words flow, sometimes they’re harvested, other times it’s like the hard job of miners. But if I keep at it, if I push through it all, they always come. They never leave me alone.

They relieve me, soothe me, make me understand myself a little better. There’s simply nothing else that gives me as much joy and happiness than writing itself. I’m the person who would put all her lottery money into a long-term bond, and live off the monthly interest hidden in a warm, quiet corner of the world with her notebooks, laptop and typewriter. Because that is all I need in life: a beautiful view from my comfortable chair in a small house.

I owe my life to writing and I’ll always come back to it. Thank you universe for this gift.

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