I forget about this sometimes. I don’t mean to, I have the best intentions when it comes to writing.

But sometimes, at night, its easier to pull my written journal out of my inner pocket of my purse, and hand scribble. Its easier when I cry, if its handwritten. The water on the page, blurring the ink, makes it more real. How do you translate that effect to the typed page?

Maybe as I get older I feel I have less to share, less to justify feeling. When I started blogging, sophomore in college. There were no boundaries – I shared my writing and my experiences with everyone from strangers to family to friends, to people I hadn’t seen in 5 years. Now I’m more reticent. I write anonymously, knowing, one day, I will get the courage to share. With everyone.

Until then. There is this.

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