“Who’s the subject of your pieces now?” my friend once asked me.
I looked at him then I smiled, “Still him. When I’m happy, I write poems about him. When I’m sad, I write poems about him.”
“How about right now? He’s making you in pain, he broke you. Will you still write about him?” he asked, looking at me concerned.
I stared back at him
“Of course, I’ll still write about him. Actually, he’s giving me a privilege,” I replied, smiling weakly, looking at the sky.
He fell silent. When I looked at him, he looked confused.
So I went on, “He’s giving me the privilege of writing the best masterpiece. Here’s a little secret I want to tell you,” I said looking intently at his eyes then I continued, “The more pain a person felt, the more beautiful one's masterpiece is.”
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Drapetomania
Diversos(n.) an overwhelming urge to run away. These are works of the author's head on the clouds.
