I am a writer. Because I am a writer I feel as though I sometimes see the world a little differently, feel things a little differently, and do things a little differently. Whatever happens in my life, I can write about it. I can write essays and poetry. I can write stories upon stories upon stories. I have to ability to string together words in a way that could make you laugh, or cry, or be angry, or feel absolutely empty inside. With the tap of keys or the flick of pens, I can turn even the most menial things into something absolutely fantastic. And that is where the problem lies.

I am a writer. Because I am a writer, I am hopelessly romantic in every sense of the phrase. I romanticize everything in my head: the way raindrops race each other down the car window, candle-lit dates at the top of the Empire State Building, the way the last glimpse of sunlight over the ocean shines brighter than the light of any other time. I fall into metaphorical holes in my imaginings. In my head, the world, and everyone and everything in it, are so much more beautiful and wonderful than it is in reality.

I am a writer. Because I am a writer, I am afraid that I will never be completely satisfied with anything in this life and this world. I will always be longing for the romanticized pictures in my head. I will always be hoping that one day the tip of my pen and the sound of my keys will bring to life more than just words strung together in sentences. Because I could write the most beautiful essays and poems and stories that there ever were, but I cannot make the visions that dance in my head as I read the words that have streamed from my hands real.

But I am a writer. And because I am a writer, I will always try.