When I’m quiet, and all alone, I dream. Writing captures these dances with words and traps them within the confines of space. My music teacher once said: “Music is the art of sound in time.” For me, writing is nothing quite so grand–it’s the blunt instrument with, which we master ourselves. To write, is to capture that moment of perfect clarity and try, quite poorly (an imitation really), to recreate that perfect feeling–and what it means to be human. Writing is the act of purging our dreams upon a mute stage, but the dreamer in me, always believes in the possibility of grace.


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