I am floating. I am lost. I am found. Yet I don’t know where I am. I struggle to open my eyes then give up the fight, too weak. I am in. I am out. I am here. I am gone. I feel too rigid. I feel too soft. I feel the pain yet I feel nothing.
I call for help. But I know I am silent. I reach out my arms yet they are still at my sides. Is this the end or just the beginning?
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Published by 1972italy
I have been writing since I was about six years old. I love it! I enjoy drawing word pictures and getting people to think in different ways.
I have not done much other than my personal journal over the past few years because both fear and betrayal have locked my writing box up tight. I seem to have lost the key. So this is me trying to pick the lock.
I also love the interaction with my readers. There are so many diverse voices out there! Talking with others helps me work through my own problems and (I hope) helps others with theirs. I learn much about other cultures around the world that I might not otherwise know. Writing is how I connect with the world.
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