Week 1 Pt1: 1st Person Autobiography

I have always loved to read, even from a young age. Books have always been my escape, my outside connection to the world, even when I was to young to participate in the comings and goings of adult life. I used books as an escape, and liked to consider myself this wise, old soul trapped in a young girl's body. As I grew, I began to write. At first, they were short stories inspired by my musings of boys and love. As I grew older, the stories began to elongate and change in depth. I dreamed of being a writer, inspiring millions with my poignant thoughts and comical stories. However, for some reason, I have never been able to successfully complete a novel. Eventually, the dream died and I moved on in life to more "practical" and "adult" behaviors. My brain still races with imaginative ideas. Actually, my mother still references my vibrant childhood dreams and thoughts I would share with her, and I grow sad that I have lost some of that spark. Secretly, that imaginative girl still lurks deep within me, but she has been tamed by this disappointing thing called "adult-hood".