For months I have been neglecting my writing. The truth is, there was no story to tell. I had the great privilege to fall in love and have that love be returned. I became the main character of my own story, felt the exhilarating rush of kisses and long-held cuddles. Only when I have no story to tell, when that last page to the novel flips to the left and closes that I realize how much time has past, and how happy I once was in my own love story.
They say that time will heal our wounds. I believe that this age old saying is true. I also believe that I can find solace in words, the truest friendship of a paper and a pen. What stories will come? I dare not know, but one thing is certain, I had been loved and I loved in return.