Creeping.

  It's funny how things work out and how we don't necessarily see the patterns as they are fitting together, but as time fades onwards things start to make more and more sense.  It is this crazy and chaotic force that drives us and makes us want to dream.  It may seem silly-all these hopes and fantasties we have-and we present them to ourselves through waving wands and visions of escape but these are the things that make us whole and allow us to climb through the gravel and the wet mud and creep through the slime filled passages with purpose and force-these things are what make us crave.  When I was five, all I wanted to do was to be a writer.  I wanted to write and to get paid for it-everyday.  This was my dream-my ambition.  I wanted to have book signings and read my work in front of crowds and get up early and stay up late working on new projects.  I wanted to work with other writers and fine tune my skills and hone in or what made me as a writer.  I still want all of these things.  Writing is what keeps me going during the rough spots.  It's what makes me think that things will work out in the end, even though I have been up all night crying.  It is the glue and facets me together and the mother that holds me close until my heart stops beating so fast.  This world that I create breeds all that I need to survive-I just have to pay close attention and widdle through the muck to get to the good parts.  For years, I was told that I was just scribbling and that nothing would ever come of it-of anything that I wrote.  No, I haven't seen all my dreams come true.  I haven't be able to dream as big as I wanted to and time is running out, but I haven't stopped keeping these hopes under my rib cage and pressing them close to my chest until they burn through the core of me-keeping me warm on those cold winter nights.  I am my writing and my writing is me.  We are one and the same and the fuel that keeps us alive coltivates us and makes us strong.  It is the strength of other writer's that renews me and I feel a sense of pride whenever I see an accomplishment, even if it is not my own.  For sombody broke the barrier and made people pay attention and read.  They reminded them of their own dreams and of the possibility that somewhere down the line they forgot theirs.  They reminded them that not all is lost and that first you have to believe before you can fly.