I remember them. All the late-night readings, the countless swiping through book after book, burning through them like it was pizza night. Countless tales of pirates and knights, werewolves and vampires, billionaires and their slightly less fortunate criminal children (we all read them at one point). Those magical, mystical fantasies. That escape of reality when I was at my absolute worst, avoiding the people I despised, and avoiding unwarranted situations. Wattpad had been a place where I could share my wildest dreams...but it had also been my nightmare. Account after account, book title after book title, fake friend after fake friend...it never ended. It never went away like I thought it would. My "brilliant" plans of success went down the drain, and eventually, I stopped all together. Until, that particular moment. That moment I remembered why. Why I was there in the first place--the excitement, the worlds--MY WORLDS. That's what I had lost along the way. My writings. My originality. It's kind of funny, actually. You'd think with reading how many werewolf books I did, that had the word "mine", that I wouldn't forget it. But that was one of the biggest contenders that pushed me away. When I was younger all I saw was the brilliancy those writers possessed. I had read back on some of those old books, recently, and let me tell you: I have no idea how I found any of those good. But I did. And I got caught up in all of it, and I saw the numbers and the fans and I decided something: I wanted to be just like that. So I took that always relevant theme, and I ran with it. And boy did I run that marathon....but at the same time, I was stuck strapped to a chair. Because I got nowhere. Because it was all useless. Because those writings weren't me. And I've only recently realized what my writings are...those original stories I'd written in my head before Wattpad. Those countless hours, sitting in a chair, imagining. Imagining, creating, loving.
How it's worth so much more.
