I write for the sake of writing.

Writing. An unsurmountable mountain of books and scripts.

Written words blown away, flying everywhere, anywhere. At low heights, at high distances. Not anymore mine to take.

Words. Yours to make. Cherish, sob, laugh, snort. Criticize. Share.

Writing. An art that no artist can stand.

Limbo. At limbo we stand. Writers can't be artists, writing can't be serious.

We're art, we're serious.

We're more than a profitable product, we're a piece of art, all based on likes and dislikes.

Work. Never ready, never perfect, never mine.

Writing. Art that guides all others. Should be the first but always comes third.

That's why it's never done.