Being a writer is so easy, isn’t it? All you need is a pen and paper, some unlit cigars and maybe, a glass of cheap champagne.

You pen down all that’s haunting you since the last fortnight, write your darkest fears, and call it a work of fiction. Without anyone knowing, you escape. Quite easy, isn’t it?

Falling in love is easier. You dive in, stay, break free, but you keep on falling.

You write long letters, the best of poetry, spend nights struggling insomnia, all in the name of love, but you call it your work, another one of your fictional pieces. Being a writer comes with its own perks, flattering but tenacious.

Let me tell you this, being a writer isn’t great, it doesn’t come easy. People idolise you, expect you to be revolutionary, changing the world in ways no one ever had. But writers aren’t anything more, they’re just like everyone else, made of flesh and blood. The only difference, they feed off words, and not just food.

 

And when a writer is in love with you, know that you’ve crossed one step beyond mortality.

They’re going to write you, more than they’ll ever write about you. They’ll not speak of you, not once, not ever, yet anyone who looks into their eyes will see your name all over them, like it’s written in invisible ink.

 

They’ll keep you safe, like a well kept secret, protected from the vices of people and promises, uncorrupted. They’ll take your name like a prayer, worship you like their muse, and this is how they’ll always keep you, locked away, but never lost.

Beware of writers, if you’re not bold enough. They don’t need the whole of you, they’ll watch you till you’re tired, and then they’ll join the fragmented bits and pieces to complete you. The best thing, you’ll never be forgotten. The worst, you’ll not be recognised, for they’ll just name you as one of their many works of fiction. You’re a story, and they will see that you’re written down. But they’ll keep it at that, a story, unpublished.

And darling, you’ll never know how terrifying it is to befriend a writer. For they’re in search of flesh, and you’re as vulnerable as prey.

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