I struggle with sharing my writing. It’s how I process my emotions, how I work through my problems. I can see my emotions on the page and dissect them here. They are scattered stars in my mind, Augustus Waters told me his thoughts are stars he can’t fathom into constellations and I share his sentiment. I embrace my vulnerability here, the blank page has never betrayed me. It listens patiently, abstains from any judgement, allows me to believe something with fervent intensity, and says nothing when I abandon those beliefs in the next breath. But to share this with one person, much less the world is a breach of intimacy. The closeness I share with the blank page is mirrored only by the closeness I feel with characters from the written world. My companions, my best friends, they anchor me in a way that realBreathing human souls can not. I write in the darkness, and I live in the light. If My writing can make me feel a little less alone, then I won the battle today.And if my writing can make you feel a little less alone, then you won yours today, too.

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