Writing is my hiding place. I don’t need to be put together to write. It is not a requirement that I look or feel beautiful. I never have to pretend. I just have to accept that my mind will command of my fingertips a conversation that I need to have. Whatever war is being waged in the inner depths of my soul can be traced on tattered pieces of paper. My sentences don’t need to be perfect; they just need to be. My heart doesn’t need to feel whole; it just has to beat. My story doesn’t need to appeal to the masses; it just has to take its place in the universe. If I couldn’t write, I wouldn’t dream. If I couldn’t dream, I wouldn’t live.