To the ones who cast spell on words.

Who should be called writers rightfully? There are just so so many of them everywhere. There are writers who write when and where an inspiration hits them. But there are others who practice the art of words each day, every day. There must be those who write novels. Some might prefer things to be shorter i.e novellas. Then there are those whose poetry would makes you feel breathless. Others soothe your anxious nerves by calming verse. There are those who only write if they read first. So there must also be writers who don’t. There are those writers who need cups and cups of coffee to pop up something pretty. I’ve heard of people giving up their sleep for completing their unfinished works. Writers who explore every library, every bookstore, every corner of their city, every nook of their friend’s home to once again remember the feeling of knowing something, that thing. Writers who look up thesaurus page to page to gulp down new words. Writers who mend broken dreams of their own homes. Writers who can routinely afford to go into writer’s retreat. Writers who enjoy writing in silence. Writers who put music into their backgrounds. Writers who choose to write in various languages. English writers. Spanish writers. Japanese writers. Writers who write in your mother tongue. Writers who move to another country. Writers who translate your words to mine. Writers who prompt other writers to write. Writers who inspire you and me to write. Writers who write whatever comes to their minds. Writers are who choose to write. Writers are who write.