Why do we write? What makes you want to dance through words and paint them on a blank page? Where do the words even come from? Anyone can write. How many of us have kept journals or diaries? Leaving pieces of ourselves on stray paper that we never shared or looked at again. The thing… Continue reading Why We Write.
Death is an awfully strange, strange thing. Feared. Misunderstood. Senseless. I sit here, thinking of all the smiles and all the sounds of laughter that used to echo from the bridges of close companions. How one day, we sat and talked about things that mattered and then how suddenly, they were gone. Like smoke in a… Continue reading Grief’s Stains.