Where you belong.

I have packed you into a box. You and all of the emotions surrounding you are in a great big box that I have haphazardly yet meticulously taped shut and put up on the top shelf in the corner of this thing I call life. Out of the way. Out of sight, out of mind.

And this works. It works well in fact. It works well until the room that the shelf is in fills up with emotions and fills up with shit. And as it does I don't even have to try to get to that top shelf because the room fills and pushes me toward you and that damn box where I put you. Where I said good riddance to you.

There I sit with the only decision to be made being do I continue to wade is the literal, figurative and emotional pile of crap or do I break down, climb up on that shelf and reluctantly open the box?

And I stare at the box.

And I know I will never open it.

a true statement

I am a writer. Some of you may be thinking "umm yeah.. you wrote this" and others may be thinking "ok writer, where's your novel?" But I am so much more than that. I am a writer within.

I will speak what I want to write over and over so that the words spilling out of my lips will be ingrained and not lost before they can be recorded.

I may never write a novel but I will dictate my soul.