I haven't written in what feels like forever. I scratch out whatever's on the surface each night, almost subconsciously. But it's been too long since I've given myself the luxury of just sitting and writing and actually grasping my own thoughts. And even though there about forty seven other things I should probably (definitely) be doing, I'm going to put my sanity at the top of that list, and tonight, I'm just going to write.
Whenever I get an idea I scribble it down wherever I can find a piece of paper and sometimes I'll go back and read it and think to myself "I just can't go back to that moment. I can't feel what I felt when I wrote those exact words." That's the thing about being a writer, you can try as hard as you want, but sometimes there are just some moments you'll never be able to put back into words. Sometimes moments are just moments, and memories are all you'll ever have.
My beautiful friend Katie interviewed Alexis, the wordsmith behind Twelve Odd Months, and her words adhered to my heart. There are so many good experiences, so many struggles that I've been trying to make stories of, and having a good memory just isn't enough. Life happens and then they're too far away. We try to feel what we felt before. We write what we remember and we make up what we don't and in the end, all we have is this puzzle with all the wrong pieces forced into all the wrong spots.
Some moments are just moments and that's all they were ever meant to be. I'm playing the piano more often. I have a new job. It's Winter now. My grandparents made my week. An application went in the mail. I met someone at my favourite coffee shop and got to tell them something I never had the chance to before. There's a million little stories. A million little reasons, morals, uncertainties, seconds of bravery, laugh lines, tears that coexist with these moments. But some moments and just moments. And sometimes, we let them be.
Some writing from last week.