Maybe...

Maybe... Just maybe... People write. 

Maybe, they just... write. 

Maybe, these people are girls. Maybe, there is a certain girl.

And Maybe... Just maybe, she writes.

Maybe she just... writes.

Maybe, it's only fiction.

Maybe, she's creative, or maybe, she's generic.

But, maybe, she's imaginative.

Maybe, she's... unique.

Maybe, she has people who don't understand that.

Maybe, people have misinterpreted her, her whole life.

Maybe, she's sad.

Maybe, she's angry.

Maybe, she's angry at herself, for being sad.

Maybe, she just has feelings...

Maybe... Just maybe... She uses these feelings to write.

What if... Maybe... She's different, so people don't understand her. Which, maybe, makes her feel alone, therefore, rendering her sad quite often. And, maybe, anger follows, stirring so many, endless, other feelings, she fears, they may incapacitate her. So, maybe, she writes fiction to alleviate the overpowering stress of all these feelings.

You know... Maybe... Her writings are influenced by her feelings, not mirrored by them. Maybe, her feelings fuel her writings. And, maybe, in turn, she is empowered by her writings. 

There's a chance that... Maybe... Her writings give her strength, courage, and hope. 

But, maybe, others don't see this.

Maybe, others think they know what she's talking about. 

Maybe, they tell her that they "know" what she is talking about and what she needs. 

And, maybe, it angers her.

Maybe, it upsets her when people think they know and understand her, when they're completely wrong.

Maybe, she's different.

So, maybe, she writes about it.

Yes... Maybe, she writes.

Maybe, she just... writes.