“I’m battle-scared. I am working oh so hard to get back to who I used to be.”

                                                                                              ~ Alison Sudol of A Fine Frenzy, “Near to You”
I languish the pauses between writing. Between catharsis, introspect. I physically shrink into a parched shrivel when I do not practice this passion. And yet I still ignore. I make excuses in my head when I dwell on the missing piece of why I “feel this way”. If I even acknowledge it at all. 
  This small portion of space – these sentences and musings – I don’t expect them to mean much in the voice of the larger whole. I don’t expect grand contribution. I’ve come to terms and comfort in knowing that it is enough all by itself – if it just brings me clarity. If it just airs out the molded, dusky attic of contemplation. The labyrinth of uncertainty. 
I speak, because I lose my voice instantly when I muzzle. I forget the point of it all. I forget the desperation for growth and the assuagement of redemption. 
I forget Him. I forget me. 
I don’t want to forget anymore.
I’m tired.

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