Today I bought a new journal. I looked at my last one which is barely written in and writing in that journal, just picking up where I left off, would be sort of painful. It's like going back and having to explain everything and reflect on all those missed months, all those missed months that I couldn't bring myself to write about it.
So there sat a new journal, fresh and sophisticated. I updated it with a brief of 2009 and of early 2010, when I say brief I mean BRIEF, with no hate nor feeling, just illustrated as it was and how I experienced it. I then wrote so freely about things with me now, my emotions pouring onto the page, through that pen like tears. It's true, writing is such a beautiful therapy to me.
(One day, when it is full - and I do hope to fill this one- I shall share it with someone special to hold and treasure.)
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