“I don’t think I could love you so much if you had nothing to complain of and nothing to regret. I don’t like people who have never fallen or stumbled. Their virtue is lifeless and of little value. Life hasn’t revealed its beauty to them.”
— Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago
When I’m about to tell someone, “I’m a writer,” I have this habit of swallowing my words because I know I have nothing to show for the past couple years.
.
But then I do the laundry of my life and sort through what these years have been: trying, failing, loving, meeting, quitting, starting, introducing, reintroducing, hating, apologizing, apologizing, loving, observing, listening, not listening, learning, sleeping, remembering. Becoming. The fabric of each “wasted” day is stitched into the sweater and jeans I put on this very morning, the scraps of each person, place, and experience cling to my cuffed hems.
.
So when I want to say, “I’m a writer,” and the loudest voices inside me want to say, “You’re not, you have nothing to show for it,” I will bend my ear way down to the tiniest voice I have and listen to all the stories it’s been dying to tell.
Ceciley Pund 
I love this. It’s time. ❤️
Thank you my friend 💜