Alone is something I have been a lot in my life. Alone was something I was comfortable with. All those wordless hours felt dulcet and serene, like hair being fondled. It had a different flavor. But now this deathly silence itches me somewhere deep inside because it’s always quiet, too quiet.
Sometimes when the burden of untold stories, unexpressed feelings, pernicious lies and dreary loneliness is poisoning your soul and corrupting your beliefs you have to write.
If a story is in you, it has to come out. Continue reading