Somewhere between here & there, I lost my words... and time just... well, went on. So many times, I wish I could say certain things & write about them on here or just write abt them at all.
Still months passed, and nothing came, even though things begged to be written.
Then, much like a scolded child peeking around the corner wondering if it is safe to come out again, words began slowly seeping out - hoping not to be noticed.
Here's the thing though: words written by a writer, more specifically - words written by me - need to be read. Isn't that the point?
To be authentic.
To be true.
To be real.
To at least one trusted person, who loves me. No matter what.
For years, writing has been therapeutic. Such a good outlet for me, especially to let things out that aren't so... pretty. Things that aren't so... perfect. I write abt tough stuff. Stuff that most people would rather forget.
Here's the thing abt forgetting though - there is no healing in forgetting. Or pretending to forget. Or just pretending... period. So for now, I write some things in private. And some things in public too.
I'll find the words. I'll reclaim my voice. And I'll be back.
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