I’ve kept a lot of my writing to myself over the years. My insecurity was never a question about whether or not I thought a particular piece was “good enough”. My hesitancy towards sharing was directly related to how I felt others would then perceive me.

Some people prefer to never touch upon the darkness which resides uncomfortably in their nearest and dearest.

Well, f**k that. I write because I can. I share because I’m tired of being the only one looking for the light.

But not all is melancholia. I am always contemplating, learning, observing. Stumbling stupidly onto truths so simple I hastily chastise myself for not seeing them sooner. I laugh at myself and the world around me often. Quiet moments are few and far between, so I relish those when they occur.

Everyone has a story. These are just bits and pieces of mine.

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