Excerpt:

I’m going to be better for writing this.

There are so many things that I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of what will be left of me at the end of this month. I’m afraid of what truths or lies I’ll type here under the pretense of examining, of letting go. I’m afraid I’ll take the easy way out and fiction will wind it’s way through my words until all that’s left is a vague resemblance to the person I know I am.

I’m afraid that I will not be better for writing this. That it won’t matter. That all this will do is take more than I can afford to give. But I’ve started already. Saved the first words and everything. So from here on out… no excuses. No escapes. At least ten minutes a day to chronicle what was and is and will be.

At least ten minutes a day to dream.

I guess that would be as good of a place as any to start. Dreams.