I'm scared of listening to you. You give me such wonderful things to write. You trick me into believing they are mine. And when I show them to others, I can hear you laugh.
I am scared of listening to you because I think you are feeding me with the words of some past thinker. Someone whom I had once heard and understood and remains in the annals of my mind. Maybe you recite them back to my ears. And I, like a fool, will quote them as mine.
I hope it doesn't become a copyright infringement.
One of them said, "trust me. And write this..."
You throw words like snowflakes. Each with a distinct shape, soul. And I have to catch them with my palms. I have to mould them, shape them, unearth them.
She said, "You can then call them yours..."
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