When I was in high school I wrote a poem. I was feeling very excited about things to come and very sad about things that hadn’t been done. I titled it “Yet”
I can’t find it (and I know it’s somewhere) but the jist of it is something like this
Walls haven’t been broken down.
Cures haven’t been found.
Wow, did I really botch that one up! I remember that poem being pretty and strong. I will for sure share the actual one once I find my little book with it in there.
I’ve been feeling the need lately to just write. Not for anyone. Not for any reason. Just to open and let it flow. I have a journal that my husband let me pick out and I absolutely love it. It’s one of those soft leather journals that you see in movies with amazing scribbles, torn pages, leaves from trees and old photos of loved ones far away.
While mine isn’t as majestic as the films make them out to be it’s still my favorite journal so far that I’ve written in. Once this one is full I’ll be filling a beautiful handmade one my mom got me from one of her recent trips to Europe. She actually meet the man who made it. How cool would that be someday to go to that same location with it completely filled and get a photo with the man.
I’ve never been to Europe … yet.