I am scared. To write. Even though it is the very thing that gives me life and makes me breathe deeper breaths. It centers me. It grounds me.
Unraveling can happen. Layers peeled back. Writing is like watering. It gives life and opens me up like a flower’s bloom, which has closed upon itself when rooted in dry and barren soil. And although the revealing is the place I am most comfortable residing, it is also the place that strips me of my armor and leaves me standing there, naked.