For days, I’ve wished for this feeling to be here. I’ve hoped to long to write, desire to write. So far, I’ve done good. Sometimes, it’s just so hard. I don’t understand where this groaning has come from, but it’s here. Ready to eat me whole.
Begging for me to keep moving, seeing new things. Calling my name out to the world. Drawing me to the unknown. I was never one to long for this. I want to dwell in the fellowship of other–yet, I fail to sit still and grow in intimacy with them.
I long to know and to be known before all is ready. I lack patience and fill it with words. Therefore, I write, for right now, it’s the only truth thing I have. Through words, to express the inner meanings of my soul. Perhaps this is all I need.
To write and create. What dwells within me. While my mind races to understand–what can only be understood through written words.