Words are my life.

All I’ve ever been able to do with passion is writing. Even if there is minimal talent, even if my ideas are scraped off another. These words falling into place is immensely beautiful in my eyes. The flaws you see in word choice, or going on much too long. Life to me is an unfolding story that should be written down.

a lonely life is made meaningful with the story around it. The steps we climb that pushes the brain further and further. The loneliest nights are the best motivation, when you think you can’t take it any longer. When a gun would be the switch to get all this over with. My fingers don’t belong wrapped around a trigger. These words still flow inside of me, there is still much to tell.

On your loneliest day, where you felt truly tested on everything. That is the beauty, you made it past that moment to here. There may be a much lonelier day, pushing your detail even further. Sit there and feel it, recite it to yourself as if you were inside a story. Before you know it, you will be on the next page, wiping the sweat from your brow. As long as you are still here there will be another page to be written.