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Writer

I use to be a writer, a master of words. They would flow from my hand filling hearts and minds with wonder and joy. But now the words stick on my fingers forced into the lines of the paper. There is no flow like a quick mountain stream, more like boulders slowly falling from a hill. I do not know if it is from the loss of time or the hurt of heart break. But no longer do I feel the freedom that writing once brought to me





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