One will write of ordeals; another of pleasure. But can those who truly exist write at all? Those who compact their life into pretty words, existing only for their bleeding passion. Those who seek the word not for its beauty but for its complexity. Those who become a victim to eternity in small intervals of literacy. Those who crave validation in the way someone feels as they read the tears another has made tangible. What most don’t fully comprehend behind the concept of validation is that it is a bold virtue for people who are adept. There is something so despairing in the loneliness of being an over achiever. No one able to maintain you, allowing you to overstep in places that are unfamiliar. But those who compact their life into pretty words are those living with the largest amounts of uncertainty. Unsure of what to make of the world. Brought up from places you know nothing about; but everything of. Those who write are those who wonder. Those who wonder if it is the right thing, at every wrong possible time.