Oil partial bored 24 x 30 in

There was a time when she wanted to be a writer. When she was young, she filled notebooks with stories of heroes and villains. But as she got older and her life became more complicated, she found herself unable to write. She could barely even read an article without getting distracted by her own thoughts.

She didn’t realize that the problem wasn’t in her head, but in her heart: she had no passion left for writing fiction. She couldn’t bear to tell stories that weren’t true, so she stopped writing entirely. The only thing left for her was the truth: the truth about herself, and the truth about others around her.

She began writing memoirs—not just about herself, but about other people in her life: friends and family members who’d passed away or moved away; people who’d hurt or betrayed her; people who’d touched her heart and changed it forever; people who’d given their lives for hers; people who had loved each other despite all the odds against them because they believed in something bigger than themselves…

But sometimes even real life isn’t enough—especially when you’re trying to make sense of it all on your own.