It’s early June, and the rain has been near-torrential for most of the day. I’m in one of my memories-from-the-future: I’m sitting at my computer, typing, looking out of the large window onto the city below, trying to earn a living… and I guess that means the future is no longer future. And I guess that means I’ve made it.
Time to write. And begin again this process that I started so very long ago, before fear and insecurity took me over and told me that my voice was worthless.
Time to write.