Here it is. I have my first public work of literature. Never have I been so proud.
Though i jest, there is truth to my words. I have always wanted to become a writer, an expresser of eloquent detail and prominent meaning. I had always seen this life style, or profession, as a way to show the world who i really am. I am not just a college student, struggling to balance my school work with the social life one can expect at a B1G university, such as mine. I am not just a member of the United States Army. I am not just a kid struggling to make it in today's world as so many others do; I am the future. I am what no one else is. I am unique; alien to everyone else, and yet familiar to all who know me.
I know I am rambling, but i'm fine with that. I want this to be a journal of sorts. Not a diary, obviously, because i'm not keeping it under my mattress with a heart shaped lock on it and unicorns adorning every inch. This is just me, sitting on the balcony of my apartment building, smoking cigarettes and watching the traffic on the street below, shaking from cold and trying to warm my numb fingers. It is getting harder and harder to type my first entry; this must be how authors feel. (When they're writing in Antarctica...smh)
With the wailing of another police siren, its time for me to go. I don't have much more to share now anyways, but i know you'll hear from me again soon.
Don't change, friends. And remember, this is only the beginning.
