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By Mauro C. Souza © 2012

That's it.

I write because there are some lies that I want to tell.

I write because it is dawn, and soon it'll be evening.

The black stars in the white night are inks on the paper.

I write until I get insane. I'm insane, so I write.

I have no master except my own soul, and I write.

When night falls, the paper is my blanket.

It was the fairies from the tip of the pen.

They are the ones who bring me dreams and nightmares.

I write because there is no escape.

I can't control life. However, I have my version.

Maybe it is a fool of me to become a writer.

The absolute freedom of a fool.

It is some exorcism of my demons and my divine discontent.

Why do I write? Does there have to be a why?


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