Sometimes I want to write something beautiful, something meant to inspire. And this burning hunger grows inside me, consumes me to the point that I can’t write anymore. And it all feels pointless. It seems as if I will never be able to write more than just words, more than a nice story.
After all, writers are also readers. And all the stories that left a mark on us appear to be much more than just words. More than simple stories, they’re the fuel that ignites what’s most human in us, the engine that has driven mankind towards greatness.
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