Midnight, exactly when inspiration flowed down to you like a river that you wished would just dry already.
Kill me not, because indeed inspiration was everything that pushed every writer to keep sitting in front of their laptop with their finger dancing on the keyboard.
Yet somehow it was like the wind was mocking me every time.
The wind and the inspiration seemed to join forces to build yet another sleepless night of a poor writer like I am.
Sad, indeed.
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