shame

it is the number one thing I feel writing this, after being so absent for months. I would hope I was digesting, adjusting.  perhaps that is true.  I would like to see it so.

in truth, i hesitated even finding the words, as my mind searched to remember this place.  only to find that the key was already unlocked. it has just sat here, waiting for me.  patiently, as good things seem often to do.

but right under that feeling and maybe even pushing up from under, like a child using his arms to hold up the top of the fort, I feel joy.  Joy that I remember the feeling of contributing, that I can get better at it.  That love is worth sharing. That telling stories is part of who we are as people. That art affects.

Realizing this, I will try to begin, bare chested. Forgetting heaviness, letting go, filling up light airy lungs with good, with truth.

 

 

 

 

 

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