 Ernest Hemingway once said that there's nothing to writing, all you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. I am a four with a five-wing. Meaning is my mantra in quest. I search for a world of whys, buried in the narrative of other's stories and of my own. Grace is a styptic pen that quiets the hemorrhaging that spills onto these pages. It guides my voice to another hurting ear that might need to know of my journey, where its meaning finds its muse. I bleed from the pen, but in meaning I find my resurrection.