Again I am reading words I could not have written.
Not because I don’t have the words.
Not because I can’t arrange my words in a way that’s expressive.
Because these words come from a deep place, one I don’t own – a place I haven’t been, people I haven’t seen, life I haven’t shared.
Yet there’s a link between my soul and the soul of the writer – that’s where I find my understanding of this work.