Tonight I’m going to share with you something a little different.
I watched Ruby Sparks tonight and it got me thinking about a few things, but perhaps more on that later. For now I hope you enjoy…
As she read she wondered why she no longer wrote. There was once a time where she would spend minutes upon minutes typing away on her keyboard. Or penciling away on scraps of paper that were never big enough just because the tears made her feel the words she wrote had more value. Then again she refrains from thinking about that time, or those memories, or the things she wrote about for hours on end. Hours upon hours, which easily collectively could’ve been months of writing. Not many months, but a couple of months at least. The point being, she wrote. She wrote to her desire, baring all, holding nothing back. She shared her days and her thoughts, she shared her feelings, frustrations, and wonders. No walls, no facades, no excuses. Completely nude in her own words. She revealed it all.
Until that day – when it all feel apart and she begin to feel ashamed of what she revealed. Embarrassed of how she felt. She stopped writing and begin erasing, feverishly erasing until all the words were nothing more than just smudges upon wrinkled paper.
Vowing to never expose her mind again she stopped writing and instead….