As I read back through my blog entries (I went back as far as this Spring) I wanted to cry. I've noticed how things have changed, and looking through my writings I can see how every post fit with the place I was in. Even when my blog entry had no mention to what I was going through in life, I could see it there, hidden between the lines, winking at me.
I've tried writing about my life, and it just wasn't happening. If I try to tell you where I'm heading, that's not going to happen either. But I can write about right now.
Right now, the house is quiet, and I'm sitting alone at the kitchen table, the only sound being that of my fingers hitting the keys.
I feel like I have nothing to write about, like I lost all honesty and boldness and the ability to actually say something worth reading.
I'm going to be ok, though. This long period, of losing my words, it's been good for me. Good, and also very frustrating.
Sooner or later, I am going to make it. I am going to find my voice again, and find out how to say everything that I am holding so tightly up against my chest.
Sooner or later, I am going to figure out this thing. I'm working on it, I am.
Sooner or later, I am going to make it.