They say good writers write about what they know—pain, betrayal, love, risk, death, and all the in-between. I write to figure it out, to remember, to change. Writing heals me, burdens me, and allows me to keep searching when everything goes dark. Some days I don’t have much of a story. I’m all fragments, run-ons, faded Polaroids, and muddy shoes.
Some of it is here.
And it is not all beautiful or inspiring or done.
But that is the magic of it,
the ending is still unknown.