Some time ago, I learned that I had the gift to bring my imagination to life through paper and ink. It filled me with Life when I had nothing else to give and it gave me Hope, the last of all plagues from Pandora's Box. My writing isn't perfect or really all that amazing but it expresses the darkness of my subconcious self. The urges that make my teeth grind in their sweetness. And a way to express the deep, resounding loneliness inside from which I may never escape.
Or it may be that I have been encouraged to express myself and it was through this that I aquired a certain flair for the...dramatic.