I have recently felt that the only thing I can control in my life is the movement of pen to paper. I swear I have so many blank notebook pages filled with scribbled cursive that I could compile a novel. I feel that I am speaking to someone through these pages, or rather venting. To make this notion a reality, I'll document my life , my passions, my loves, my philosophy, and yes even my pain within these chapters. Brace yourselves. You have no idea. I'm not who you think I am.