There was a beautiful wind in the world today; cold, brisk, and filled with the skeletons of dead leaves. I remember these days all too clearly; a dark remnants of a season long overdue. The nights are dark, the toilet seat is cold, and my bed lie dormant as my cold body lay in the mountain of blankets. The layers are so thick and my resolve clear.
My month that will be spent entirely at home is drawing nearer, and I have been finding myself searching desperately for projects that will allow my mind to wander into a creative realm. They are merely distractions, for those are the memories that keep me going. That is the fuel that makes me successful.
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Memories. They’re all that keep any of us going, whether we know it or not. You have a true gift for writing.