When a girl who grows weepy over a well twined metaphor goes wordless, it is well, unusual.
I completed a memoir about my childhood. It wasn't a fun, lighthearted romp through old snapshots, instead a gruesome reveal of pain, trauma and sexual abuse.
There are many who encourage leaving the past in the rear view mirror. I would agree, unless the images are still reflecting. The reason for writing about childhood is simple, tell the stories until they stop hurting and begin healing.
Yesterday was decreed as final additions, edits and read 'til it's done Wednesday. At 10pm, I walked away from the computer without a word. I had none, no words or descriptors for my feelings.
There were plenty of emotions, but no names or swirls of letters to dance them out to be read. They continue to be motionless, stilled in existence, until perhaps one day, they will fly.
Photo credit~ ME & Mad Isle