I found...

a mechanical number 2 pencil while cleaning...it had lead, which I was thankful for...

But Nameless One intimidates me tonight, for some reason. Perhaps it knows and is waiting for my confessions. It holds me more accountable than my other journal...it doesn't beg me to communicate, it just silently stares at me...with that look. You know the one...the one that says, "I know so just tell me anyway."

But I can't.
Not right now.

Backspace.
Backspace.
Backspace.

One quick motion. Using the eraser takes more effort...more time...
to think.

Pause.

Contemplate.

Right?

"Write," it says.

I wonder if my old friend, the leather one with root-beer stains, was just an ice-breaker for me to discover me...for the first time.

And I wonder...
if my new friend is deeper than my old friend...maybe it wants me to discover new places...
dark
secret
places.

My Bible is on top of my journal, casually placed their by my hands as I tidied up my desk earlier this evening. I swear it is a conspiracy...
His Word
wanting my word.

But my word...
my words don't know where to come from! I think they all want to rush out at one time, in one breath...

Exhaustion.
Brokeness.
Anger.
Bitterness.
Loveliness...

All at once, in one breath, in one sweep of thought...
Words in a blender.
Words in a salad spinner
mixing together...altogether separate.

It isn't easy, you know...
it isn't easy being honest...
with myself.
And though it's silly because He knows everything anyway, sometimes it is hard to be honest with Him as well...

I don't like faceing issues...confronting problems in my life. I wish I could forget about them, think happy thoughts, sprinkle some pixie dust all over me and fly, fly, fly away to Neverland...But I can't...life doesn't allow me that luxury.
Love doesn't allow me that luxury.

Love.
I really do love him, you know. So much so that I step out of my comfy spots and become completely vulnerable before him...and he realizes that...and I am thankful that he is sensitive and forgiving.

I keep telling Nameless One that tomorrow I will write...
But it won't wait until tomorrow...I think it's trying to tell me that it...what I need to face... can't wait for tomorrow. "Not all of it," it assures me. "But a start."

So I will finish here, my friends...I will finish here and pick up my modishly clear number 2 pencil and write. What will I write?
Anything.
Everything.
I will write of pirates and mermen...of falling Alnilams and fuscha painted sunsets...I'll write of the boy in white, the one I met next to the tire swing when I was a little girl...I'll write of movement and sound and the shape of love. I'll write of purple cotton candy and big comfy beds...fluffy pillows and all.

I'll be me...
I'll write me.

I'll let you know how it goes. :)
Good night, friends.