It struck me today that a lot of time has passed since I was last genuinely happy.
I smile often, mostly to make others feel comfortable. But the ghost-mark of pain remains etched across my eyebrows, my laughter shallow.
This emptiness is cannibalistic, consuming my flesh, chewing up the ones I love, and spitting out those I could love if I had the courage.
I need healing.
Chuck Close would agree: “Inspiration is for amateurs — the rest of us just show up and get to work.” As would E. B. White: “A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper.”
(Source: , via embracewithme)