Writing has been my salvation and my curse for as long as I can remember.
Words and stringing sentences together has always come fairly easy for me, I've been published and recognized on social media and whatnot, however, I never allowed myself to believe my dream could become my reality until I got older and made peace with a lot of demons and adolescent fears.
I am a writer. It's time to own up to what I have always been.
I don't have a website yet, stay tuned. It'll happen.
My best friend who loves to read once told me I cannot die before him because I need to write his eulogy. I've been told by people who don't like to read that they make an effort to read me because what I write evokes feelings and emotion.
How much longer do I deprive myself of what I really want to do and who I really want to be?
I am a perpetual work-in-progress.
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