2014/02/06

Without Being Asked


About a year ago, I went through a phase where I wrote a lot.  I wrote poems, short stories, blog posts (obviously), really bizarre letters to my little brother, and lots and lots of lists.

This week, I picked up an old notebook that I haven't used since July and I found something I wrote during this phase.  I had completely forgotten about it, and it made me want to cry.  It's not really a story, more like a little snapshot from what could have been a story--the whole thing is only about 6 pages--and it's actually a bit depressing. But I had forgotten just how much I loved it.  

I've added a few thoughts to it each night before bed.  Yep, I've become that girl.  If I owned a black turtleneck, I would totally put it on and take my notebook down to the coffee shop so that I could write. And I don't even drink coffee.  I feel like a character in a Woody Allen movie.  Like Gil in Midnight in Paris, but without the crazy fiance.  Or the time travel. 

I don't know quite why this matters to me, and no doubt in a few weeks or months it'll go back to being something forgotten in a notebook.  But right now, it feels good to create something without being asked.

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