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I'm Coming Home

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Jan. 9th, 2010 | 11:15 pm

I have been looking and looking for a new place to write for what seems like months (years). It's a bit like house-hunting; a neat, tidy, warm home for my deepest thoughts and feelings. It just has to feel right. And so here I am again, returning to an old journal, years later. I almost feel like this is the wrong way to do it, it seems like regression, but it will have to do. Because I'm not sure what I was looking for to begin with.

I'm tired of all these thoughts weighing down my head, all these little words caught at the back of my throat, desperate to tumble forth, somersault over my tongue and dive out from between my lips.

I've been afraid to write for a long time now. I won't lie. Both scared of writing, and scared of never writing again, all at once, as contradictory as that sounds. Part of me was holding out for starting a new blog, and in the interim - I've been herding my nomad, aimless words around on my notepad, in my e-mail, on the edge of napkins. But mostly, I've been avoiding it. Avoiding the swirling thoughts and storm of emotions. Writing things makes them real, makes them part of a past you can't deny or erase. But the past and life itself were never meant to be pretty and perfect. I'm still learning that.

You can't have peace by avoiding life, says Virginia. I know this to be true.

I wish to be unafraid.

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