Writing

Holy F*ck, I have a book.

I have a book. It’s sitting on the desk next to me. I can touch it, and fondle it, and smell it.

When I open it I recognize the words because I wrote them.

I.

Wrote.

Them.

My name is on the cover because I wrote words, and those words were made into a book.

I have a book.

It’s sitting on the desk next to me.

I can touch it.

I can fondle it.

I can smell it.

It is mine.

The book is me.

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