I do want. I don’t just want to do writing. I don’t just want to be a writer. I want my truths to be loosed as words into the universe, like crystalline snowflakes; no two the same no matter how similar the arrangement of letters seem to be. I want to know that that they’ll be savored on a tongue, or become droplets on a bare cheek. I want to feel them absorbed into the waters of the world to reemerge reimagined by readers who will make of them their own truth.