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source: google images

 

He tore at his hair in frustration unable to come up with something new. He stared at the empty digital sheet of paper on his computer screen far too long. He was a writer for God’s sake, he should be able to do it. The amount of awards he had won alone would put most writers that called themselves critically acclaimed to shame. But the sad truth was he knew he would never again be abe to replicate the magic of his first book. The plot of that novel had not only been close to his heart but the words had melted into each other in such a way that the story flowed with a thousand different flavours mesmerizing the reader. He no longer had the passion or that level of trust in himself because he had already done what he had set out to do. He no longer had the purpose that had fuelled him. He was just a shadow of someone who had once been the light of a million hearts.

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