Today, I awoke but not quite. I was tired and felt the best option was to work at home, keeping my feet warm. There was a hint of melancholy over something I lost but it was fleeting because optimism is always the dial on which my head lands regardless of the side trips I may take.
I wanted to leave my beautiful city the other night despite its architecture and amusing citizenry.
I left writing for a while in 2005 and thought perhaps, it was something to which I would never return. But I guess just like the city, writing is a place from which one needs a respite in order to look at it like a tourist again - in love and in awe.
I am happy to have writing back as one of my primary loves; I admired Anais Nin for reading and writing and not giving in to anyone or anything. I have to keep her in mind if ever I consider giving anyone too much.
The act of creation makes everything whole, sane, safe, good, kinder, adds nobility, charm, stillness, flourishes, flashes of love and pain and heightened tastes, exasperation, release, love, little deaths, tranquility punctuated by lack of tranquility or whatever its opposite chooses to be.
I am here thinking of ways to get out there, to reach, to reach you.