I loved to write. Poems, stories, songs, anything. It was so relaxing, and it just let me empty myself of all the confusing feelings. Just what I needed right now. I set the tip of my pencil on the paper, and the words flew into my mind. They flowed and worked themselves into the perfect sentences. They were wonderful, gushing onto the paper in a series of poetic lines. This was what I lived for. A poet’s rush, was what I called it. When words work amazingly and you feel refreshed and revived and so much better than when you started writing. Like that rush of sweet air after diving under water. The life sustaining oxygen that pushes its way into your lungs and makes you close your eyes as you savour the lovely feeling of breath. This was what poetry was to me.