There is something that tells me this is not just about Ava Jade, the relocation, the silent tours met with tears at midnight or my recognizable distance. Visibly frustrated, I move my prints and reposition myself away from the windowsill and turn toward Ashton. Before I can open my mouth to respond, my phone rings.

This is the closing of a chapter that I’m spending time with. The writing, editing and imagining where these two characters go from here is something that keeps my mind active, my imagination soaring and my deepest desires longing. Somewhere along the way these two lost one another and the magnetic force pulling them apart is stronger than I anticipated.

Writing is where I meet myself most honestly. It’s where fantasies bloom, truths unravel, and my bare heart feels safe enough to be seen.

Writing is where I feel held, emotionally and spiritually.

The pages feel like a home I’m meeting for the first time.

It’s quiet, familiar, and already holding a part of me. The journey up a brass staircase, leading to an attic of old memories, cream-colored lace dresses and a dim streak of light. The pages hold the secrets, truths, and confessions of a bold woman letting go of people-pleasing and playing it safe.

Jewel-toned stained glass and leaded windows remind me of the little girl that often overstayed her welcome for safety. The little girl that never knew how to say no, or wasn’t given the opportunity to. Eventually, she often fled to live a life of ease. The ink, the pages, and the rhythm of my hand share an unconditional love, an unbreakable bond; one that my characters will embrace and bring to life.

The soft sounds of a cackling fireplace invite me and my haunted past to throw away what I don’t want to keep. Flames flicker and remind me that the past is the past, let it go, leave it here, and allow words and the writing to find its depth. Humid evenings by the fireplace feels like a gentle unraveling of the soul.

Safety flows off my tongue when I quietly speak about the feelings that overwhelm me. Writing is where I can release those feelings, whether it be short prose love letters, chapters of my novel, or blog entries of my deepest thoughts.

I don’t question my loyalty to writing.

Writing loves me back.