I type. I write out one line, then erase it. It seems I can’t find the perfect way to start.
Years ago writing was an outlet, tonic for my lonliness. I used to write out my thoughts and connect with each of the words on my page. It seems that as life has evolved, time for writing has been lost. There are so many things slipping through the cracks that I feel I don’t even have time to write to-do lists anymore. I enjoy my life, but sometimes I am still lonely. The words that I want to write stay in my mind. As I go through the motions of mundane tasks, I repeat lines and words to myself until the things I want to say are echoing loudly in my head.
Yet there are other things now that make my life full. I have grown and changed so much. Life has moved on and I have learned so many lessons. My heart is more still. My inner self more recognisable. I now look into the eyes of my husband and my son and endevour to fully realise the two additional roles of wife and mother; roles I did not formerly have. Writing was part of a season of growth, but now that I am so changed, perhaps I should recognise that tool as outdated and move on. But part of me still whispers “There is still so much left to chronicle, so much unsaid, so much to be harnessed; so write”.
Somewhere lost in thought,
Meiche.
