I don’t know who you think I am. But I am that girl you would barely look at on the street. I am the one curled up on the park bench at midnight, shivering. I am the one with the dirty fingernails and the shoes ripping at the soles. I am the shadow that you find in a dark alley. I am the creak of wood outside of your window, the monster that haunts you as you sleep. I write because there is no other way. There is nothing else that is left of me. I write because it is in a story that I can peel away my own life and take a real bath. I write because the words “warm water” mean something on paper. Today, the most wonderful thing that has happened to me is that my stomach feels full. I am all alone in this tiny apartment with no windows. I am all alone in the middle of the day and it feels like midnight. But I have a book by my side and when I read it on the kitchen table I feel like a queen. This is what you don’t see. What you might never see.