Being what feels like trapped in my extra year of highschool, every waking moment of my life is an infusion of regression and progression. My current life has become a paradox that's reaped the fruits of redisocvery and reinvention of the only interest that I have ever stuck to- the only passion that I dare declare to be one: writing and reading the written word for in my eyes, there is truly not a more effective way of expression, at least not for me. Instead of compelling myself to embody this tortured writer character these days, I have felt compelled to simply write because my life is one of many that has been consumed by a consistently inconsistent train of thought.