Forgetting the ghosts that I once belonged to, I leave them in sunflower fields. Walking 20 miles south From here, I realise the world is made of color. The river between Grey and sunflower-yellow is thirty-six thousand feet deep; varying between Colours of you and me. Leaving the cemeteries of grey I find myself somewhere in-between dark and light~ No other colour can describe this; except maybe the world
Surround yourself with people who are serious about being writers, and who will tell you, ‘Hey—you can do better than this.’ Who will be critical of your work, but also supportive. And who will not be competitive in a negative way. — Isabel Quintero
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Reviews: 47