Writing

I want so badly to write. To be a writer. Not necessarily to be published but to write. So many thoughts are swirling around in my head, scraps of paper are shoved into my desk, and I have an entire folder on my email dedicated to writing but why don't I do it? Why, because it's too heartbreaking, too open, too much for me. All that I want to write about is my life, mostly for baby G but for me too but I don't do it. Will it disappoint her, shadow what I mean to her?

I hear song lyrics like these that play over and over again in my head;

do the dirty work of battle hymns (Indigo Girls, Sugar Tongue)

the shadows lie long AND is there no master mind of modern day who can blueprint a plan to make love stay sturdy and weather proof, ushering in a new revolution (Indigo Girls, Love of Our Lives)

I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire that once burned out of control AND I'm living proof of the damage heartbreak does (Allison Krauss, Ghost in This House)

These words are utterly unbelievable. Maybe I don't write because I don't see that I can live up to words this powerful. Maybe they are only powerful for me because they have spoken to me at certain times in my life. The Allison Krauss song I first heard on my way down to pull the plug on my dad while he was in a coma. It reminded me so much of my parent's relationship and how much I have always felt I had been thrust into their lives at the most inopportune time. It spoke to me then as it speaks to me now, five years later. It brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it. Maybe in some ways I think writers are weak, putting it out there for all to see because it's too much to keep bottled up. Maybe they think, like I do, that they will sometimes burst if others don't hear what they've seen or done.

Maybe.