Inspiration strikes only at times. And when it does it creates an author with it. A gifted author would turn that creativity into a story that is worth circulating. A passionate author would turn it into a story worth preserving. And a compassionate author would turn it into a story that is worth sending to generation’s centuries away. I wasn’t what I would call a gifted or passionate or compassionate author. I wouldn’t even call myself an author but instead, I would call myself a girl who loved to write. That day I sat on the cushion without and ideas, without any creativity… waiting for it for a plot to just strike me in my head and give me a story that would make it worth reading at least once. I took a look around me and my eyes lingered in the spots I loved, the lush green plants, the dark sky, the children playing in the streets and the cat that longed for me to pick it up and hug it tight. And then I realized… I didn’t need an inspiration…. I didn’t need ideas….I had my life to write about…. I had a story to tell people that after all the pain there always lay some happiness…….. to tell people that there is a light at the end of the tunnel after all…..

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