All that really makes sense to me these days is writing. All that makes me feel happy is writing. All that makes me feel at peace is writing. It allows me to get away for a while. To be someone else, in a way. Sleep provides some release but waking up is inevitable. And when I wake up, everything comes crashing down on me. All my worries, struggles, and insecurities. Every day is the same, yet when I look back it all seems different. I’m never sure where I belong or who my friends are or what I want to be.
I’m so out of place.
But when I write…I’m home.