face with coffee cup

shocked face with coffee cup

I like to write.
Sometimes I make sense to some people. Other times, and, often I don’t make sense at all. Not to me- not to you.

Sometimes I come back here and wonder why I shared this and that.
And I wonder, um why the hell was I thinking this way.
sometimes I wrinkle my eyebrow and think, ‘Huh?’
And other times I cover my mouth in shock and raise my eyebrows.
And so what?! the mind is so fucking beautiful.
And, so I write.
Well, when I lose my memory, I hope I can still remember to read
so I can come back here and read what I’ve written.
And read what you’ve written in your space.
And, even, if our thoughts have changed and developed and evolve with time, we won’t regret what we’ve written.

Sure, we may feel sorry or apologize or blush or hide for a while,
but the feelings, weather, good or bad, were significant at that time, place and point.
And, that, well, THAT is pretty wonderful.

I write what I’m thinking, and what I’m looking at and feeling at the moment.
I don’t know if I want to find out why I write or why I am thinking what I’m thinking or why a picture I took tells a story in my head so vivid I can smell and taste it.

I don’t know why I write to you and share things. I just do.

I am not afraid to write the things that are in my head and my gut and my heart.
(I am worried I filter too much. Or not enough. Maybe)
I am only afraid that these words may be misunderstood. (And you can laugh and roll your eyes, or you can say, “Um, you’re fucking crazy.” Or maybe you just want to read what I write for no apparent reason.
So, you can think what you want, and fear and share what you want and,
look for what you want, and look at and read my words.
And you can write to me and say what you want.
They affect me as they affect you. Words.
But, whatever the effect words have on me, they were significant at that time.

I write. And write.
And sometimes I pause.
And I write because I want to tell the truth.
My truth. and that’s scary. And when I come back to my words,
and read them, I know I had feared something.
I know something made me smile.
I know something was too personal…
And I know I didn’t mind sharing it here and with you.

Hmmm, my Dani and Alex will probably say, “Mama, you’re so weird.”

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