Why we write

My voice escapes me in a way my pen never does.

The spilling of ink takes shape, finding solidity in words – the firmness of them reminds me of all the places within me I find soft- easily destructible.

The hurt, the anger, the sadness; it all escapes from deep within and sprawls across paper.

Solid.

Unapologetic.

Announced.

And that is my release.

Imprints in time

Places leave their marks on you.

You carry little bits of them around with you wherever you go.

But can it be the other way too?

Do we leave imprints of ourselves in these places, people shaped spaces invisible to the eye but bursting with traces of life. Echoes of our laughter bouncing around, whispers stored within the walls, secrets carved into tree barks.

A version of ourselves permanently stored, long after we’ve gone and can’t remember who we were then.

Childlike Faith

A plane flew overhead today, the children next door all rushed out in excitement to see it. Each waving “bye” and jumping up and down as it made its way past. I remember my childhood, doing that too. The innocence in their eyes, each not seeing but believing whole heartedly that someone in the Balus up, up in the clouds saw their wave and heard their “bye”. In those moments, children wherever they are and however they live – they forget. They have a world of infinite possibilities ahead of themselves. What a joy it is to have childlike faith.