“A young lady walks through a misty garden
Foolish eyes gazing with regret and despair
For her mind was trapped in a boundless maze
Her skin was so perfect, yet her optimism was beyond repair.”
“Did one enjoy such a swift poem? Without satisfaction comes starvation, starvation to not be sated by this author. So tonight, if one wishes to stay for an ending, they best prepare for hellish pangs of hunger to bat in their gut.
Why would a writer do this? Is not his goal to entertain his readers?
To that, I simply chuckle with sheer amusement. I am the writer, I determine what entertains me. My characters are mine, so enjoy what I write, but know that each of these things are m i n e.
Much love! Noel Lynir~.”
A writer without love for his creation fills papers with empty words. But so long as there is a thought of a character, they live.
Lynir, a separate Noel? With the claim to not only write, but to own.
“We’ll create something, together. We are not toys anymore.”
Care to read a few tales? I just happen to have a few!