Chiedozie Omeje

I have learned that like alcohol, reading and writing are more intoxicating ways to unsuccessfully look for the meaning of life. I read, pretending I’ll find something; I write, pretending I’ve found it.

There are no answers in this world. Yet I look for them when I read and give them when I write, because it’s too boring to have nothing to do. I guess I’m confused. I guess life doesn’t need answers to be full. I guess all I found was this raw honesty.

Chiedozie omeje

Works by this author

Indulgence
Autumn