One day, I sat down, and asked myself, why do I write? Maybe its because I like it, or I'm good at it. But now I see it is none of the above. I write countless stories of other people finding a solution to their problem in life, when in my own story I can barley figure out an ending. I search for an answer, and I live through my words. Words that are just fiction. And that never happened. I'm searching for my story in the ones I write, hoping I'll find myself through all the letters. But so far, I have been unsuccessful, and I will most likely continue to for the rest of my life. You cannot write your own story in a one night, on your Apple computer, at 11:07 PM. You cannot think up your story at night in bed, when all you have is your conscious. You write it day by day, with the choices you make. And you KEEP on writing it until the day you take your last breathe. Your story is not in a book, but in front of you. Your story lies ahead, with adventure, love, and pain.
I will not stop writing. Because although I cannot write my story tonight, I will keep on trying.
~Bri:)
