You may ask yourself the same question I often ask myself, Who Am I?
I’m a brother, I’m a friend, I’m somebodies’ child, but I’m an adult. I’ve been high, and I’ve been low, I’ve seen a lot but nowhere near enough. I’m the victim and the victor, the beauty in the beast and the uglier side of me. They say I've mastered words but I havn't learned how to use the power for good. I’ve looked everywhere to find out who I am and I’m still searching for the man in the mirror. The search might never end, but once I find myself, I lose all reason to be who I am, a writer.