If I write a story and no one ever reads it, am I still a writer? Writing really isn’t up to me. I can’t not write. It’s not what I do; it’s who I am. I’ve been writing since before I could ever hold a pencil. Stories play across the pages of my mind, mostly love stories. The world is simply starving for more love. I’m no exception. I’m surrounded by love; it’s like the air I breathe. I couldn’t live without it. Love is in everything, inside of everyone. We often don’t recognize the love we see in our lives, though, because it looks so much like fear. Love never walks alone. Love has many companions: rejection, sorrow, abandonment, humiliation, disappointment. We can’t have light without shadows, and we can’t experience love without an equal amount of pain. Breathe in the sorrow. Rest in the fear. Feel the full force of love in all of her fierceness and glory. When I accept the full reality of life and face the darkness directly, I grasp the hand of suffering with one hand and find love is holding my other hand, leading me into the darkness toward home.