The Inner She That Misses Me

badgalfrifri

One day my father asked me what I wanted to do, I lied. The next week my father asked me what I wanted to do, I lied. A year passed, my father forgot to ask me, I asked him, "why?" "What's the point," he said. "A lie is a lie, no matter how many times you try to sell it, I'm not buying. I figured you'd tell me when you're ready to own up your wants, when you're ready to own up who you want to become." That night I told my father I wanted to write, I wanted to fill every thought that crossed my mind somewhere permanent. But it's more than that, because more than anything, I want to write for someone to read, I want to right for those in need, and I want to write for all the me's. Opps, short bio? You should know writers don't do limitations well, creative people don't know limitation.