Whats mine...
Writing is what I should've been doing every day for the last year and a half. Writing is my escape... my joy.. my pleasure. But. It has been tainted. Turned around and become a fuel for my anxiety. What if? What if my words are misunderstood....what if people are offended by my thoughts, what if they think Im saying something I am not..... Again. What if.... There have been depths of pain the past few months that I have never known. And MY GOD ....thats saying something. and speaking of God..... I dont feel much like talking to Him lately. I try to. BUT tears fill the spaces where the words should be. Nothing to say, but a billion WHY'S.... So tonight....I write for me. I write....and I trust that these words are enough..LOUD enough for God to hear....and raw enough for them to count...as the prayer I cannot muster. So many stories of heartache and pain have been woven into the days, hours.... minutes....seconds of the passing months. Stories....that most of which, ar