“Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery.” ~Jane Austen But my pen, my pen shall dwell on forgiveness and healing. I write so that I am. . . .I turned the corner and puttered through my old stomping grounds and the tears began to flow. “From where are these tears springing forth?” I wondered. I’d cried buckets of tears in the past year and a half, but these, they came from someplace very different. . . And for the first time I started to think, “perhaps the ultimate purpose of this journey was not about him, the amazing man whod chiseled through my stone cold heart, at all.” Perhaps it was all about me and he was the conduit. Perhaps the thing I needed to do most in this world was face a younger version of myself, the wounded young girl I’d left behind, but not forgotten, in this space. I needed to peer into her soul and hand her all of this emotional baggage. It was her who would be my hero. She had to be the one who quelled the self-loathing voices thatd begun to speak to me here in younger years. The ones that told me I was not now nor would I ever be enough. . .
Posted on: Sun, 18 May 2014 22:16:31 +0000
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