Returning To Myself
It’s time for me to finally face this. It’s time to return to myself, to my roots, to put the pen to the paper again, to be less afraid.
It’s time for me to finally face this. It’s time to return to myself, to my roots, to put the pen to the paper again, to be less afraid.
What I’ve learned beyond the extraordinary joy of writing is that writing has purpose. Words, just like flowers, have their scents, too.
Maybe today’s words have no real meaning. But it feels healing, in some way, just to say them. Maybe today I will just write to write.
Maybe, in a sense, I’ve always been defined by my words. As far back as I can remember, I’ve been someone who has lived through my writing.