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We shall write; since writing feels like breathing. We’ll imbue breath into words and make them palpate with life, letting them go like a nurtured bird healed from a broken wing to wreak enthralling havoc.

We shall write; that through our words we may be able to evoke emotion amongst the masses by piquing their hearts and senses.

We shall write; we shall write happy pieces that will light up worlds akin to an archaic lamp in a hovel. Lighting just where you need it to beam.

I know, you’d ask – why a lamp? Why not an electric bulb? Why not a torch? Hell, why not Tyrese’s bald head? A lamp leaves just enough darkness for sadness to lurk. Desolate pieces that we’ll churn too. As melancholy is just as beautiful as its foe. The heart is predisposed to decipher the former more meticulously, tracing though its nuances. That the greatest pieces ever written were those that yielded a tear or two.

We shall write; when we do we find serenity. We build a barricade between the world and ourselves when pen kisses paper, when ink bleeds lexicons. We live in utopia for a tad while, sans the worries hinged on reality.

We shall write; since most of us are wired – introverts. Our thoughts read profound written. It is there they find home turf. That there they feel a sense of belonging.

We shall write; through heartbreaks and happiness. Through pain and gratification. Through insults and praise. Through doubt and confidence. Through you, through me and through time and its essence.

For as long as we can see.

We shall write Mama.

We shall write Baba.


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