It still startles me that I can miss writing. I've never kept a diary or journal. I've rarely felt a build up of words, waiting to tumble down and out. But lately, they are there. Unformed, vague, but thoughts that want looking at, that want release.
I love reading other entries, seeing what has sparked a stream of words for someone else. I seek inspiration and encouragement. Sometimes just a feeling of "me too" or "I have been there" and less isolation.
It's all still so new to me, this writing thing.
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