I write about conversations I have had – while driving in my car alone. In my head. With an imaginary person.
I write about past relationships. Lovers I wished I had. And ones I could not wait to see go.
I write about far away places I dream of traveling to, as I can only imagine them to be. And places I know like the back of my hand.
I write about struggles I have experienced. And the ones I hope to never have.
I write about my life. And yours. If I know you. And if I don’t, then I write about the life I think you might have. If it were mine.
I write. Just because.
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