I spent my life folded between the pages and glued to the screen experiencing stories. In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with illusionary characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in complete fabrications; I experienced adolescence by association, because my real voice was too quiet to be heard. My world is one interwoven web of fantasies, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of dreams, a character created by false imagery, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.
Sometimes ... being an adult means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow ourselves to hurl full throttle into our own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it you find yourself in shambles. It is then that a part of you, a very tiny but nonetheless unignorable part of you, also feels relief. Because finally, the moment you have been expecting, been dreading, been preparing yourself for has come. Ah, you tell yourself, it's arrived. Here it is. And after that, you have nothing to fear again.
