“In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.” – Czesław Miłosz

Writing has been somewhat of a challenge for me the past year or so which is why you haven’t heard from me. I’m still in love with the way my heart bleeds out on the page. But it’s been like the cat got my tongue. As if my beautiful mind has slipped away from me. My words and my truth go hand-in-hand, but they disconnect easily. Breaking up every time one gets too ugly to face. My truth weighs in at impossible to carry; my words ease the burden in her. I know there’s no straight path to healing, but writing feels like I’m at least on the way. So here I am…  just trying to string words together until they make sense again. Exposing my innermost places to the world as if someone’s going to read this. But I don’t write for y’all anyway. This is for me. Another day I lived to write my truth. Without guilt or shame, or fear of what you think of me. Writing is my God-given gift. I’d be remiss to waste such a present. So let’s try this again. With a deep breath… and a pause, to take heed of the moment. Here exists both my words and my truth.