I know that no one is reading this. Tonight, it's better that way.

Over the past few months, I have struggled to find a balance in time and creativity. I long for more time to write, but the course of life pulls me in so many other directions. Most days, I lay my head on the pillow and I haven't written a thing. This begs the question: who is a writer that does not write? I am scared of that answer.

But here I am tonight, writing something... something that no one will read or critique. Something that will be forgotten as soon as I press a button. But it is more than I have done in days, weeks. Honesty is bitter pill.

Tonight, I write because I am overwhelmed and putting words down has always saved me. Mostly, from myself.