Most pieces I find myself typing away at elucidate love, growth, my younger self, and mental health. Longing for too many things that call upon my future or some to redeem my wild past. Written words that used to surround darkness, death’s sister song. Seemingly colorless ideas I painted exposing an antithetical rainbow of grays. Even stories I produced shielded the white light between each sentence while I detailed it’s shadows.
I watched a movie, “Stuck in Love”, and the writer Josh Boone, notes, “A writer is the sum of his or her experiences. Go get some”. Originally, I sat in my room imprinted by that idea and mental health, believing that I could write stories of all the dark paths I discovered alone. Walkways with inescapable trenches, unseen evils, uninviting guests with twisted narratives, and heart stabbing obstacles. However, these welled concepts dreamt within my brain created such sinister delusions, but creatively. Days passing upon the carpeted floor became thrilling to narrate, yet grimly unpleasant to read.
My motivation passed along with the setting sun, and my personality turned to ash in the glow of the daylight. Raveled in not only my mental health, but within the stolen carpeted threads, my experiences then became threadbare. Meaning the same old story, different analogies, and alternative words, that all later lacked a foundation of ingenuity.
As this was in the past, writing has not only brought a sparkle to my aged darkness, but an imitation of the Northern Lights within my poetical mind. Soaring colors painting new realities, glowing stars dotting untracked paths, and an absence of the sun because I found light in the darkness; springing a rare bliss.
A fresh bliss that welcomes blossoming flowers lining the teeming streams within my veins. Occasionally sweet whistles of birds atop the wires of my brain charming the stories I write into songs. And an internal sunshine illuminating my youthful hue once again delighted to be of invigorating purpose.
The last time I recall being so fulfilled with natural beauty is instilled within the memories of my younger self. The girl who I look up to more than anyone, my life’s greatest teacher, and the brightest soul. Whilst I have now buried the majority of my darkened days, I remember wishing I could emulate that pure smile she shared, and wondering if I could ever encapsulate her radiance again. Although, different, more grown up now, I stole back her youthful disposition and her beautiful rarity she once contributed to the earth. Stolen but gratefully returned.
Thank you to that young girl for seeing the world in such elegance, and thank you for your enlightening intelligence. You would be proud to see the woman you created.