"I thought when they pulled me out of that hole for the last time I would stop writing. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Regaining the sky wasn't enough. These words glue reality together and keep me from slipping away. When I stop writing I forget things, lose track of time, place, self, wake up in unfamiliar spaces to unfamiliar faces. I worry less that I have become a ghost, than everything else has. So I write, and the sky remains."