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Yes, You Are a Writer: A Message to the Seemingly Unattainable Goal + Why You Already Have Everything You Need to Attain It

I'm separating myself from the things I’ve written, occasionally allowing a scan through the words, picking up a few sentences here and there. Convincing myself that whatever emotions and experiences I was able to get through then, I wouldn’t be able too now. 

In a way, the person who wrote that doesn’t feel like me. Sure, if I allowed myself to read through I’d find a remarkable similarity, but at the present, I don’t. I sit at a distance, never giving myself the pleasure of getting to know the person at the other end.

Maybe I’ve told myself too many times that it’s an unattainable dream, to be a writer. 

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Dropping the Expectations of 2018: Recounting Three Days of Anxiety Ridden Thoughts, a Shattered Projection, and Establishing Myself in the Wildness of Things

My hand moves beneath the glossy scene before me; fascinated by the reflection that blankets my body, one more clear than the soft glow of the candle sitting on the slippery ledge, I curl my hand upwards, and like a statue it holds steady, causing the glossy scene to give way to a harsher, more disturbed state. 

I feel that there is no comfortable way to say this. No clear, feather-like melody that I can project in order for you to understand, but go ahead, let us nod in agreement, because what else are we to do? 

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