There is screaming in my brain. Stories and prose that are trying to get out. Sometimes I can’t figure out how to put them down. I can’t make the screaming go away. But I don’t want to. It’s my home.
I need validation, a visceral reaction from you. Without it I don’t exist. But maybe that’s all right. Because sometimes I’m tired of me. Exhausted from the endless tales and always, always needing someone to tell me ‘well done’.
If I can’t make you laugh, can’t make you cry, can’t make you react, I have wasted my time. And yours. And for that, I am sorry.