Sometimes it bothers me that I haven’t written anything for a long time. Sometimes I think that the beautiful words no longer enhabit my mind. This scares and frustrates me.
But then again, I’ve started to realize that I don’t write anymore because I am living those things that I used to write about. I am in love. I am figuring it out and grappling with my own demons and spending time exploring and DOING. I don’t have to write about it anymore; I don’t have to experience life vicariously.
It’s not that I no longer have the words. It’s more that the words don’t have the time to conceptualize because they no longer spend hours and days and weeks in my head, stewing and growing. Instead, they quickly become my actions.
Of this, I am unbelievably proud.
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