Write.

I have a need to write that goes beyond my somewhat rustic writing and literary abilities. I see stories unfolding in front of me, beside me while I sit in a coffee shop, the person next to me in the bus and my classmate looking out the window. These stories speak to the fibers inside my heart, to the paint splatters I call my imagination and make me promise the unfolding of their tales. Characters make appointments with my words in order to make sure their stories do not go untold, because above all else, their existence depends on my ability to find enough time in order for me to bring them into life. A skinny yet courageous librarian lost in the middle of a lost european town, a noble soldier lost in the northern borders of an until now unknown kigndom, a girl with long hair that moves every piece of my heart with her voice and those precious emerald eyes. I have made an oath to them, to myself, to my words, poor as they might be, but overall I am committed to tell of the redemptive tale that overshadows everything else, at the same that it permeates our very existence. His story, his dreams and adventures, his ever present watch over this broken, rebelious creation that He loves above everything else. This is me in a neverending quest to find these people wherever they could be, and follow them through their trials and brokeness. This is an oath taken to show others and introduce them to the many stories that revolve around me and that have honored me with making me their voice, their usher to your life and your imagination, their keeper and treasurer. Their author.