If I held all the words I long to speak inside, they would turn my blood to ink, my tongue to a pen. And all the words I need are found somewhere inside the universe of strange colors in my head. If I did not write, I would allow the darkness of doubt the victory. But as it stands, I write; therefore, one day, I will with all honesty be able to call myself a writer.
I am a thinker, and a dreamer. I am content, and I have my desires still.
I am, and I am not yet.
I am a strange creature of contradiction, yet in the Truth, the Hope, the Love, and the Story, I find my life makes sense.
"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." - C.S. Lewis