This is to all of my unfinished books, someday I'll be able read all of you when reading's all that's left to be done.

This is to all of those ******* who keeps on pushing me over; I know you have your own problems too so I stopped bothering at getting back at all of you.

Here's to those moments I surely need most of the time, a silent morning with a seemingly dark sky with no trace of rain and nothing else is heavier than my body lying on a bed and my mind up in the ceiling.

I don't think I'll be needing another hangover for now; the six days in a week, twelve to fouteen hours a day is merciless.

I am a witness of "productivity kills creativity" and God knows I am having a rough time managing stress so bad that I started counting how many days left before I finish my contract.

It's a fight alright.

What's a wounded dog got to do after he finishes licking all his wounds?

Nothing.

But it doesn't mean he'll retire after his wounds mend. It doesn't work that way

and I am yet to find out the ending to think of what's next right after.