Dear younger me, To write is to bleed. There will be nights when your typewriter keys are soaked with blood, dark, sticky, and dripping. Blood metallic and warm on your fingertips. There will be days when your paper is splattered with drops of blood as you rapturously grasp at everything, at nothing. There will be... Continue Reading →
Dear younger me, Passion is infinitely important, my child. And you are so passionate. I can still see you. There is not an animal you don't think is cute, an essay you don't love to write, or a flower you can't find joy in. For all the battles you've fought, you have an extravagant passion... Continue Reading →
Dear younger me, Oh beautiful, I'm so sorry. I could've saved you from so much. So much pain, so much regret, so many painted smiles. You'll write in blood for quite a while. There will be times when you think the bleeding won't ever stop. Know it does; God heals all wounds. Even these. It's... Continue Reading →
Dear younger me, I made some mistakes with this one. Love is pain, darling. It's beautiful, but it hurts. I'm talking about earthly love, of course. The imperfect kind. For all your wisdom, you were naïve the first time. It's not your fault. For all the lessons learned, you were too idealistic the second time.... Continue Reading →
A Study in Crimson Prose 