
There’s a feeling you get when you are home alone in the middle of the night. A dash of panic and you try your best to remind yourself to breathe.
If you stay lost in the wild long enough, you'll find yourself.
Still, I sit outside with my laptop open and facing me like an outspread book filled with my scrawling that decorate the pale white digital pages with dark letters. I pause only for moments at a time to grab the metal canister of boiling hot green tea sitting on the wooden table in front of me to warm my core and propel me further into my fit of writing.