To write is to bleed.

I guess Ernest Hemingway was right. You don't go infront of a typewriter to write. You go infront of it to bleed. To bleed out words into paper. To make a story mean much more than just a set of arranged words randomly put together. And sometimes.. there are nights that you can't swallow enough courage to stab yourself and bleed infront of a typewriter. These nights of terror where you could never finish a story, or write a prose or a simple poetry. But some nights, like tonight, you can't quite put down the knives and you bleed until daybreak comes. And that is when you realize how you love the smell of blood and ink together. How you think pink and cerulean is beautiful when the sun rises and places itself delicately in the clouds. You finish a story, you made a prose and a few poems that night. And you feel happy... you feel happy to finally have something you can grasp that is as close to what you were feeling last night.

~after all, you are a writer. Even if you could be quite so lazy at times.

-c