I want to write.
I said it.
I really, really want to write.
I want to write something brilliant.
Something important and inspiring and...
The same advice is given over and over.
Write what you know.
What if people don't want to know what I know?
What if I don't want people to know what I know?
What if I don't even want to know what I know?
What if what I know doesn't matter?
What if I know too much? too little?
I want my words to matter.
I don't want them to be judged.
Good luck with that, right?
This piece of wood represents how I feel lately.
Weathered and worn yet beautiful to the right eye.
So much lost yet so much left.
Fragile yet strong.
Lying silently still, full of untold stories.
I often feel lost.
Perhaps more hidden.
Like the decomposing log in the woods.
Quietly blending in, trying to survive,
yet in spite of all efforts, slowly weathering away.
Waiting to be found, to be seen, to have its beauty and story noticed, captured, appreciated.
Weathered and worn after many a storm.
My eyes bore deeper into the decomposing layers.
The answer emerges gently.
Much of my story is that of survival.
I still have so much life inside.
It's time to live!