Writing is like breathing, the more I express myself, the more I cherish the gift of life. All that is seen and unseen differentiates the simple irony of life and death, good and evil. Like stars that fall from the heaven, selected are the few, sought out by a higher power to bring specific knowledge to you. The selected few are muses, created to interpret all that is, was and is to become.
Visions would appear to me in dreams or as voices from someone beside me telling me what to write, words would just flow through my fingers and onto paper. As I’d write them down and read them, they became clear.
