Writing has kept me on the ground. If I had not known how to write my sorrows away, I would have been under ground by my 36th birthday. Dead and dying some more, mourning not my death, but my dying life. When life didn’t come to me, I got up and looked for it. I looked for it and I found it. I found it and I took it back. I came home.
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Just that, at the moment… I am taking a deep breath.
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Questa è Enida 
You were born to write. It is you. So you. 🙂