measured maturity, or the grace in letting go.

An older piece randomly unearthed. Damn. No regrets, but still resonates.

“There’s writing, and then there’s living.”

you don't know me.

I love writing with a wild, fiery passion. I love it with the fierceness of the untamed. When I allow myself to consider alternate lives, I always ask myself the same question; if I could turn back time –

Would I have walked the path of a writer? 

I love it with such ferocity that away from it, my longing brims to the surface. I love it unconditionally like nothing else I have known and no one else I’ve committed to. There are no ifs, buts and maybes. When I allow myself to dream of an alternate reality, I often wonder –

Would I have walked the path of a writer? 

I love it with the innocence of a child. I love it with the fear of an adult, stricken by reality. When I allow myself to think of roads not taken, I return to the juncture that I stood at…

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