My creature comforts My doubts My fears My love for you All the things That make me up Don’t make me up at all They’re just crutches I use to soften All my edges Because being myself Is the hardest thing I’ve ever done
To write is to keenly breathe the air yet inexistent, to hear the sounds yet unborn; The power to swim beneath the stars of a world distant, and smell a rose without thorns.
Throw ideas around like fairy dust, draw a seal from sentences, if you must, summon demons and gods, see them fighting. Witcher's magic – the process of writing.
Peace is easily found under the mango trees: softly push from the ground, swing to the gentle breeze, smell the blooms – every kind, hear the rustle of leaves... Heals, the beauty around – under the mango trees.