Writing frees me. With a pen and a paper, I can become whomever I want. Sometimes it seems simpler to become a stranger in a world where I have complete control over judgement, opinions and words. In real life, I have a job, parents and friends. All these responsibilities demand mundane actions from me and tire my creative soul endlessly. At times, I wish I could jump on a train, an airplane, a ship and flee. Flee from life. Flee to a place with purple skies and orange oceans; with letters and record players; where people of all sizes, genders, races love each other equally with no prejudice. Because that is the world I want to live in. Human beings seem to forget that is exactly what we are: beings. A beings who must live amongst the other whom we so disgustingly hate for no reason except who they love, their skin colour and their differing body parts.
So I write. I write because no matter how many times we say that love conquers all, we know love is sometimes simply not strong enough.