Writing is an enjoyable art, most days I have to spoon it out of my brain but when I do manage to look inside it seems to pour out of me and takes on a special meaning. At least to me.
This seems to be one of those moments, when I’m dead beat, when I incessantly search for the right words, the right meaning, the right inspiration. When I suddenly realize that I’m too tired to try to fit everything in perfectly, when I’m the square peg in the round hole, that I can relax and blurt out what I feel. And when I don’t mind what other people might think about what I write.
I was reading a post that a friend of mine made about how she regrets a vital decision that she made, a decision that in her mind she would rather take back. It made me take a look at the many decision I have taken, on how they have led me to where I am now, that have shaped the person that I am. I realized that as much pain as some of them have caused, bitter medicine has turned to honey in my mouth.
Had I not made these decisions, I think to myself, would I have had so many beautiful people around me? Would I have even learned to laugh and enjoy it as much? Would I have found the joy of smiling after having cried so long? For a long time I thought that I had lost much, and maybe I have, but I have found the courage within me to look back and learn that if I just keep on walking there’s much more to find hidden underneath the rock ahead. It’s when you stop wanting to walk that you cease to be, and that scares the shit out of me.
