She lay on the cold, hard floor, aching and alone, recalling the previous hour when she battled her inner demons to stand up and speak her most painful and harrowing truths. Her heart feeling more battered and bruised than ever before. She didn't know it yet, but one day she would look back and write… Continue reading the hour
Why do I do this? Why do I write and keep writing? Why do I sit here each day and pour my heart out onto a page that seems to know me better, to get me more than the people I have spent a lifetime hiding from? Why do I put my heart into a string of… Continue reading Why do I do this? Why do I write and keep writing?