About writing....

Writing has never been one of my talents, reading on the other hand, comes as easy as breathing. I read, because I love the feeling of going into a different world, meeting the people in the books, even when the reality of not having them as I close the book fills my lungs with the sadness of being private from air. I attempt to write, because it nourishes my soul with the never-ending use of imagination, I write, in paper, because the feeling of scratching its surface with a pencil or pen is irreplaceable; I write, on the computer, because the sound of the keys being pressed, as fast as my fingers transfer the words from my brain into the screen, is far better than music. I fight every word, reread every sentence and erase them, because they sounded better in my head, battle again with every expression, rethink every scenario, revive every feeling that brought me to whatever is in front of me and inside my head; and then I rewrite every letter.

Writing and reading, such different and similar acts, both of them are not for everyone, both of them are for everybody, both require passion, both are logical and aren't at all. Feelings come into play, feelings might as well be discarded; but there's not a book or a thought to write, that will not arouse a set of clashing feelings.

I read because for me, it's like breathing, I read, because I love to do it.

I write because it's nourishment, I write because I love to do it.