It’s been a while since I last sat down, reflecting on my life and keeping it in writing. I guess maybe a month. Maybe longer. I stopped counting after the days began folding into each other.
Today, for the first time in a while, I felt that old, restless stirring again—the kind that makes you reach for a pen or open a new blank page without really knowing what you’re about to say. It wasn’t loud or grand, not a flash of inspiration. It was quieter. Subtle. Like the soft tug of a sleeve.Come back. Sit down. Let's see what's here.
I made myself a cup of tea, hoping to create a little ambience for inspiration to find me.The kettle whistled. The mug warmed my hands. Those familiar, small rituals always seem to slow the mind down just enough to listen. I didn’t rush. I didn’t even sit on the couch right away. I just let myself exist in the middle of the morning, noticing the sounds of my neighbors beginning their day.
Eventually, I sat down, taking a moment to center myself and let whatever my inner self wanted to say, speak.
