She tells stories in her head, hopes someday someone will be able to read her mind. Then the reality hits hard. That day will never come. If she wants to share the adventures running around her head there is only one way. Only one destiny waiting for her.
The white paper is staring back at her. Screaming that there is no way for her to do this. Writing or better said being good at it is just dream. It will be just one of the stories in her head. One of the beautiful dreams repeating over and over again.
After first word she writes second, third ad fourth. After a while she starts to scream back for the paper. Puts sentence after sentence stories to its clean white surface. Even if this is going to be just one of the stories never happening she is not going down without fight. Because only way she knows how to live is by writing, she will fight until the end.