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I don't think I'm capable of telling other people's stories. I can only speak for my own I’ve been contemplating—a form, a way to tell a story. A character, a voice, a passage, a fable. Light or heavy, fast or slow. I want to answer a question, but the question itself remains elusive. How do I distill countless questions into a clear direction? It feels like solving a riddle. I don't think I'm capable of telling other people's stories. I can only speak for my own. So I write, rewrite, and rewrite again. In every stroke of the pen, I discover who I truly am.