I rolled to the other side of my bed, clutched, at emptiness and hollowness. Sometimes, amidst the noise and crowds, you don't realize that things have changed. Perhaps, this is it.
We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. - Anais Nin
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