A writer, but first and foremost a thinker. I always wanted to be a writer, yet strived to be anything but a thinker. I packed my metaphorical bags and quit the way my mind thinks. I neglected my tangled, confusing, long-winded thoughts and life was calm, serene, easy, but I missed the illogical matters of my mind, the ones no one else understands. It dawned on me that one cannot be a writer if not a thinker. The two go hand in hand, and having a complicated way of thinking, of describing, of loving, isn’t as bad as all the puzzled faces made me believe. Something mattering isn't dependant on if it is understood. Rather, usually what matters the most are the thoughts hardest to fathom.