For I who live in utter silence, writing became my own little Subterrania. A form of escapism, because while everything in reality is in utter chaos and is basked in endless possibilities of complete uncertainty, stories and written excerpts are structured; and even if some may be too complex to understand, at least we all know how it will end.
Diving deep into my deepest thoughts and desires, it never is an easy path to tread. Yet even then I understood that only by opening the wound can it truly heal, because covering it up is only a temporary fix. One way or another, it would resurface again. So, I write, to relive the bygone past and let my own wounds heal. It may leave a scar, but at least I will remember and become better.