I begin to realize, in the dream, that it's not my eyes I'm looking through. Whoever I'm seeing through steps away from the devastation of the storm and stumbles across a lifeless body. I wake the moment I realize it's mine.
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
Surround yourself with people who are serious about being writers, and who will tell you, ‘Hey—you can do better than this.’ Who will be critical of your work, but also supportive. And who will not be competitive in a negative way. — Isabel Quintero