You want people to hear your problems. You want them to hear what’s inside you; the very grindings of your soul, and you want them to love you for it. Sometimes you want them to hate you for it. I’m the same, but then, I’m a writer. People already hear my grindings. Writers, artists of any kind, musicians, we are creatures of sympathy. We’re not always outwardly sympathetic, but we can’t help but understand the way other people function. You read a shit book, and it’s shit because they didn’t make you feel what you were supposed to feel. A false writer can’t comprehend why the world turns. A true writer knows why it turns, but wonders why it doesn’t stop.