I like to think that I'm an aspiring writer, that it is, in fact, possible for me to create worlds using written word. That is all but a lie. Every single thing I write about, even as fictional as it may seem, in some sort of way is how I saw my own reality.

I write only of experiences I've had. I create a time machine, dedicated to playing over every bit of me that existed over the years.

In that way, I write the truth.

Every emotion poured into a fictional love story, I have felt before. Every tear that is shed in everything I've written, I have cried myself. From the pain and suffering, to the smiles and joy; these are the worlds of my reality, these are the voices of my past.

Everything I write is merely an echo of my existence.