I like to call myself a writer. Curls up butterflies inside of me.
I have met a lot of people on this blogging community. I write and then people read it and comment. It’s all beautiful.
Writing is not a peaceful prospect. It takes a full use of mind. The brain and its power. It Takes Up all of it and much more.
And then there is this beautiful Flow of thoughts. They can be very reassuring. Very lovable. Very comfortable.
The flow of thoughts, the conscious self speaking, makes me smile at myself.
Thought and ideas change the world. People say that it can not be changed, but it so often changed without our knowledge. The credit goes to the brain.
It is only because of it that we come up with ideas.
Writing is more like story. And stories are 22 times more remembered than facts.
Stories and writing delivers a part of our soul to someplace, some magical place, where all the writers souls are and they interact with each other and know each other. That fictitious world. Exist. Only without our knowledge.
We on the other hand, also have our souls joined by news stories. Someone has to fill the vacant spaces.
That is I think how I works.
Anyone who can write a line or a word, a phrase, a sentence, a story is a writer. Writers are beautiful. They are something out of this world.
And we save lives.
Because we write stories.
So, let us remember each other and our stories.
Let us have a place, where we can belong.
Let us no longer be outcasts.
For, we ourselves were saved by stories.