December 8, 2012

  • Naked

    Imagine something you love. Not just like, but love. Adore. Can’t get enough of it. Don’t know how you’d do without it – don’t even like to think about that. You are truly connected to this thing you love, love, love… and it vanishes. Just, “Poof!” Gone.

    All of my life – and seriously, ever since I can remember, ALL of my life – I’ve had 50 thoughts swishing around in my brain, and I would catch them up in a pen, and write. Whenever something – good or bad – happened to me or around me, I could write it. It put the bad things into perspective. It kept the good things alive for me, the happiness of the past ever-present, if I wanted it.

    Here, Xanga, is where I dared to jump. Put it all into cyberspace. Let the thing that I love out. Let others – gulp! – see what I write. Too personal, I thought, after a while. Like showing scars to strangers. I pulled back, and put a robe and slippers on.

    Looking back, I should have seen it coming, should have known that it would leave me, this thing that I love. I don’t blame it. I didn’t treat it with the respect that it deserves. First, I hid it away as if ashamed of it. Then, I gave it some freedom, and tried to rein it in… again, ashamed.

    I am only truly happy when writing and not worrying about what other people will think of what I put down on paper. There is only one way to coax it back to me, this thing that I love. Only one way to bring my thoughts back, and through my pen.

    I am taking off the robe, and kicking off the slippers, cute, pink and fuzzy though they may be.

    And you know what? That robe freaking itched. Feels good to be naked again.

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