I am a writer, a lover, and a dreamer. I don't think I can be one without the others, and I don't care to find out either.
It's been a while since I've felt like a writer. Or an artist even. My canvases are blank, my pages empty of words. Yet my head is bursting with images, thoughts, "stars I cannot fathom into constellations".
It seems as it as days go by, I allow myself to dream less and less. Restricting myself to the limitations of this mundane world. There is no place for dreamers in the road to success, or there is, but only for a few lucky ones.

My body feels like it's not my own, I've lost my right over it. The skin that wraps my flesh, the flesh that covers my bones. It's all fake, it doesn't matter one bit.
All that's left is the pieces of a worn soul. Or of a thing that looks like a soul but feels like something else entirely.
I am the pieces of what I used to be. I'm a bit of a writer, a bit of a dreamer, and a whole lot of a lover. It seems like that's the one thing I won't ever lose. For if I would ever lose it, I'd lose myself with it.

Thank you for reading. Here are the rest of my articles if you feel like checking them out:

Writer´s note: this may be my last article here. I don't know.
Love, Kaen.