at 5, i believed no one understood my love for my dog that was killed by hit and run, so i wrote.
at 7, i thought i could not explain to anyone how thrilled i was to have a baby brother, so i wrote.
at 8, i imagined that i was the only one who loved the book, "Little House in the Big Woods," so i wrote.
at 11, i was worried that no one understood what moving felt like. it was a new school in a new state. instead of writing, i began to type.
at 13, i saw that my thoughts had changed in a short period of time and i was unsure of them, so i typed.
at 16, i felt like no one could understand me because i could not understand myself too, so i typed.
at 18, i was nervous that my kind of happy thoughts would set people apart from me, so i typed.
today at 24, i feel i may confuse others with my life, my thoughts, and dreams, i take them to writing.
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