They say write what scares you.
Write what makes you tremble, write what makes you weep. Write what you are terrified to publish to the world.
But what happens when you have bleed all your sad stories onto the page. What happens when the girl who breathes through words, whose heart beats in time to the click clack of her computer keys, whose mind only slows down when she paints it a prison of paragraphs, has told all the stories she was too scared to tell?
What happens when I’ve shouted all the words I was once to afraid to even whisper to the wind. What do I write about then?
Maybe, just maybe, I no longer have to bleed.
I’m sure sad stories will occur once more, and they will break my heart and leave my mind shattered in pieces on the floor. And I’m sure I will once again turn to words as my life jacket. And I’m sure that through writing I will pick up all the broken fragments and put them back together again. And I know that the person I create, out of that pain, will be better than the person I once was.
But in the meantime, what if I wrote about my happy stories. What if instead of melancholy, I wrote about the times my heart skipped a beat and my stomach fluttered.
The time when someones sweater fits like a hug, and you fall asleep smelling him around you. The time you and your sister decided to bake a cake at midnight because you were home alone. You laugh the whole time and blast the soundtrack to Hamilton around the kitchen until you wake up your little brother. The time big wooly socks and a book were your outfit for a rainy day. The time the smell of hot chocolate and a camp fire polluted your nostrils. The time you got dressed up in your mothers wedding dress and pretended to walk down the aisle.
Maybe there are so many stories that I’ve never given myself permission to tell, because I didn’t think they were worthy of being put down on paper.
And maybe…those stories, are the most important ones.