& before I can move forward and marry this man, I must consolidate.
[console i myself on dates long past]
As I sit on the floor going through box after box of journals and poems and papers and notes, I see ME staring up from the pages.
& I realize:
I haven't written in years.
Not even when I had Gio did I truly write.
I didn't try to purge my soul. I didn't pen things I would be terrified for others to read. I didn't...
...didn't...
& now?
I feel a shock of numbness. A jolting overload.
underload?
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