I write because sometimes fiction is the only place I know how to survive my own pain.
The tears my characters cry are mine. Their screams are the ones I learned to swallow. When they collapse, when they beg, when they rage at the world for everything it took from them, that is me, sitting quietly in the rain so no one can tell I'm crying too. They say the words I was too afraid to say. They fight back when I couldn't. They get the revenge I never got, the apologies I never received, and the closure I'm still desperately waiting for.

Maybe that's why I can never truly abandon them.

They aren't just characters to me. They're pieces of myself I hid inside another name, another face, another life. They're old friends who understand wounds I've never known how to explain. So no matter how much I make them suffer, I always try to give them something I'm still searching for myself.

A happy ending.

Because if I can take someone who has been broken, betrayed, abandoned, and brought to their knees and still write a chapter where they finally get to breathe, maybe there's hope for me too.

Maybe all the pain I've lived through isn't the ending.

Maybe I'm just still somewhere in the middle of the story.

So I keep writing.

For the revenge I never got.
For the closure I still need.
For every scream, I kept silent.
For every tear I hid.

For the voiceless.

And maybe, somewhere between giving my characters the endings they deserve, I'll finally learn how to give one to myself.