Fire.

FireI just printed out 82 pages and burnt them. Yep, threw them in dad’s wood burner. Then I went back in the house and drug the file to the trash and emptied it. It’s gone. No going back. My novel is history. It’s time to quit writing about the past and live now. It’s time to quit dreaming about writing a happy ending, it’s time to live the happy ending. I’m not going to quit writing, I’m just done with that story. I want to live the story I’ve been writing and now is the time to do it. Dreaming and writing was the easy part. Letting myself live it is going to be the hard part. But, I’m ready.
Sig

Perfect sleep.

She buried
her ears
into the calm
of his heartbeat,
and in a matter of seconds:
fell terribly in love
with the way
her loneliness fell
softly and suddenly,
asleep,
in his chest.
-Christopher Poindexter

Unexpected.

So here you are. 108 miles away and you are reading me. I knew you would eventually, but I didn’t come close to seeing the reaction I would have when you did. I am usually not a crier. This blog is part of who I am—it is all of who I am. I sometimes write what I cannot say. I have written about you…alot. I hope you don’t mind. And I hope you don’t think I have lost my mind. And more importantly, I hope you don’t run away.
Sig