The pages are blank and all I see is the potential of filling the space with words and ideas that float from my fingers and fall from my hands.
Never to be spoken aloud, my voice is mute but yells “Hear Me” on paper.
My heart bleeds in ink and my neurons fire online in an organized chaos of muddled memories and lessons learned.
Imagining what could be and making sense of what is draws me closer to the peace that lies within.
I write because I am hopeful, I write because I am confused, I write because I have something to say.