On April 15, 2020, I chose to write this book and chose to tell everyone about my world.

When I first came into contact with writing, I just needed something, I wanted something, I could, and I had joy, joy, and trouble for it.

I wish I could love writing, but it's been almost two months, and I still can't make writing something I need to do to something I love to do.

What scares me the most is that I don't need to write anymore.

If it was just once, I would never have chosen to give up.

But, that's for the umpteenth time,

There's no reason to stick to something you don't need or like, is there?

I found that after I finished writing, I became more and more unhappy, and I became farther and farther away from the life I loved.

If everything is right, it only means that what I choose, what I need, is not right for me.

The most feared thing is that it is the opposite direction.

But, I've been here before......

I don't regret the choices I made, and I'm grateful for the little things I put into my writing.

No regrets, thanks.

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