When I had closed that last chapter, I felt like I had sold my soul, hung my feelings up to dry— drip drip like paint. But oh, what four years can do to you, how they can devastate you. I’m back baby: burning, fighting growing pains, watching the world burst alive from my window pane. Oh reader, I have so much to tell you, so many lessons learned and then unlearned, rocks turned over and then put back, and then picked up once more. Are you listening? Are you writing all of this down? Do I hold answers like a magical god? No. I am a 24 year-old girl who has loved too much and put myself on the front lines of battles I shouldn’t be fighting. I am clear now— my mind a weapon, my body a shield. Reader, haven’t we been through this before? Haven’t we skinned ourselves bare for the benefit of applause? Why then, are we doing this again? I thought I had lost you I thought I had put you down and I’d never pick you back up. But writing, it seems comes in tidal waves. So here I am once again ready to rejoice in the memories I’ve made. At page one I pull you, by the middle you’re with me, until we’re barely breathing by the end. Have I enticed you yet? Have I whet your appetite? Go on then, turn the page, see what else I have in store.

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