Black and Write

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It’s funny to know that this title was a written mistake. But then I realized how true these two words could define me. Not black like my skin, black like a pure and deep color. These days, I work on my novel and I have to face the end of my 9months-stay here.

What is the link ? you will say. Well, I have to do this introspection, looking down in my soul and opening my eyes. I have to take all these secret feelings and bringing them back to the surface.

It’s hard. Hard to be sad. Hard to accept that it wouldn’t be as beautiful as now if it was forever. Hard to see that this life never was my daily life, it was dream in bubble dream. Hard to know that I will explode this bubble with a plane going back in France.

Surprisingly, my characters are living their best moment. What an irony ! I feel sad when they finally enjoy their life, far away from my sadistic mind – we’ll talk about this later, haha.

Many things in life are hard to achieve, but fear mostly covers them. I am scared to live this post-erasmus like I am to finish this book. Because it’s frightening to know the end.

Who never prays to never finish a book, when it was an untelling pleasure ?

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