Writers wander in the dark deep jungle of their thoughts and collect dry leaves and wilted flowers of their experiences in the basket of their hearts.
Sometimes they get injured by the sharp edges of those dry leaves. And sometimes they get lost in the fragrance of those wilted flowers.
It is so difficult for them to live in the moment. Either they swim in the ocean of their past or they fly in the future of their imaginations. And sometimes they live and feel years in a few moments.
A single drop of rain can bring floods in their hearts. The cool breezes of summer can make them nostalgic and they reach to their childhood.
Their eyes have sympathy and their souls have empathy for everything and everybody. They get inspired by anything.
They greet the rising sun and they hug
the soothing moon.
They may seem difficult to understand but they are not. They are child-like. Their hearts are transparent just like crystal clear water.
One may find them busy with themselves. Because they talk to themselves more than they talk to others.
But they are not fake. They are real.
They can't pretend. They are creators.
© 2020 thoughtsprocess
thoughtsprocess (author) from Navsari (India) on August 13, 2020:
Thank you so much Chatra for the appreciation.
CHATRA RAM from BARMER INDIA on July 06, 2020: