I’m staring at a screen waiting to be filled with something masterful. As I hit each key, I realize this. Writing is about the absence of perfection. It’s the raw and unfiltered. The one without polish. It’s about returning to roots. The deep ones that hold pain and promise. It’s letting you see a soul as calloused as my toes. It’s about learning from anything or anyone that crosses the path. It’s about showing weakness so that strength may become a necessary antidote. I have become stubborn, and not in a good way. It’s about learning from a six year old, not arguing about nonsense. I’ve loved Philippians 4:13, but I haven’t let it make roots. I can recite it, but do I believe it. Honesty, the policy, I haven’t honored in a long time.
from R's rue https://ift.tt/j41H0VY
ليست هناك تعليقات:
إرسال تعليق