At night, I sit in my bed, pen in hand. My hand trembles with the words it wants to write. The blank page screaming at me. What's so scary about writing something on paper? Terror grips me. I want to write. I want to document my feelings..my thoughts. The truth is raging beneath my skin. I don't think I'm hiding anything big. Sometimes its just frightening to believe that am.
There's the issue of heart, and who has it. Contentment. Perfection. Responsibility. These are things that everyone thinks about.
I'm given one life. Just one. Then I will be judged according to what I did with that life. What if I'm not doing everything I can?
Seeing the words on the screen or on paper..that's forever. What if other people think the way I'm thinking? I hope..I'm not the only one.
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