I’ve been holding myself back since September 30.
I tell myself writing is my only savior. Without it, the air is polluted and my lungs are restricted to my thoughts. I can’t breathe without coughing up blood. Yet, I find myself running away from it at times.
I don’t know why I’d let a day go by without satisfying my craving to live, to breathe in fresh air, to go on without suffocating.
Today, I make amends with myself for the thousandth time. I forgive myself for letting it go. It will happen again. I’ll lose it through words residing in the least visited parts of my body but I’ll always find a way to bring them back.
At least, that’s what I hope for.