Why do you persist when giving up is so much easier?
I used to think people fed pigeons out of kindness, that it came from that portion of the human heart that longs to help, to serve, and even to protect.
The past is just a goodbye unless it’s redeemed by words on paper.
The offspring of a two-god love
The new is always hiding in the old.
Why is it the dark we fear most?
What are your writing rituals and habits?