Raining Stars

Some people have the gift of seeing bright splashes of neon paint everywhere. Their worlds are bright and glowing. Then there are the people like me. They live in a world with a messed-up artist and only a gray pen.

Perhaps I hold the pen, but I can't control my mind.

My story is one of mental illness and physical repercussions, of salads and breakdowns, of homes and travel, of midnight cries and recovery, of neon pens and stars.

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