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.
And it is not all beautiful or inspiring or done.
But that is the magic of it,
the ending is still unknown.
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