I suck at Science. Pretty average with Math. I like History. Love reading.
I daydream. Like to knit stories. Enjoy telling memories. Love making people laugh.
Fucking emotional; a constant knot lies in my chest. Open minded. Sad. Lonely. Twenty. Sometimes lost, mostly here.
I write journal entries; occasionally publish articles. Currently a Creative Writing undergrad.
Why though?
The heck I know.
I found out ¾ through high school that this is what I’m meant to do. I conjured a story and saw my classmates bring it to life. I fell in love.
Then I got lost. Found myself across the ocean. Came back and lost myself again. Damn I need a bell, one of those collar bells. JK. I mean just kidding, not Joanne. Although I do want to be like her.
I like to build worlds with words. Tie the tongues. Read out loud the whispers engraved on the pages.
I finished my first journal when I was thirteen, moved by Anne Frank. She left her world behind, a portkey to remind us that the past is more than a relic.
A writer knows they’re a writer when they need to be read. Not a closet poet. Not scribbled pages hidden in a drawer in your mom’s house.
A writer knows they’re a writer when they have something to say. Sometimes it takes their lifetime to completely deliver the message.
Hi, I’m Ana. I like to write. Why? Pen and paper are the best listeners, secret keepers, hold a zero judgement policy, a true laissez faire, a legacy for later generations and something I’ll never be bored of.
Thanks for reading.
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