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I write. My fingers dance on the keys. An entire world gradually appears from the black and white words, an escape from reality. Adventures, mysteries, and friendships are created from only a thought. To most it is simply a good story, to me it is the truth hidden behind metaphors and similitudes that only I understand. I write my story, not the life I live, but the life I dream of. I recreate myself; I am who I want to be. I am a writer.
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