By McKinley

From now on, I want to write things that brighten dark skies and dry tears off of lightly salted cheeks. I want beauty to stick to the eyes of those who read them, the tongues of those who speak them, and the ears of those who hear them. I want to write... the sentence that someone reads to adjust their footing every time things seem too heavy a burden to bear. I want to write the battered paperback that saves a struggling life. I want my words to feel like a first kiss, a perfect sunrise, a whispered goodnight.

This is not the end of frustration, but it is a walking stick to ease the rocky path.