Yesterday I read a blog about dreams. Dreams that fell to the wayside because of how life played out. Yesterday, I also read another blog about little girls living in a country that does not necessarily allow them to live out their dreams. It made me think of my own dreams and sometimes, in the journey of living and thinking out many things, dreams get shafted aside.
I used to dream. I live one of my dreams now but I still have other dreams that had been put away, forgotten, collecting layers upon layers of dust in the attic of my mind.
I write now but it was a dream that had been put away for a very long time. Writing used to define me, it used to be my outlet to the imaginary and more interesting world. It allowed me expression when I could not speak the words. Perhaps, I am not a published author, yet; but in my heart, I know that I am a writer. Not because others tell me that I am.
But because that is who I am.