started writing fiction again. my english class this quarter reminded me of how many stories i'm aching to tell; my poetry class this quarter gently nudged me the other direction, whispering "maybe try your hand at telling your truth in prose." i'm kind of scared but i also feel very, very alive because i miss this. it's weird worldbuilding. weird writing characters into existence when last summer i was writing worlds around characters that already existed. but maybe this is the kind of catharsis, the kind of trial by fire i need, because i have always been terrified of speaking. maybe this is how i start to open my mouth.