Diary – Page 7 – Kitty Michelle's Universe

There are those days when, tired, after a long day, I do come back home, to o/Our rooms, o/Our Home, we all do that.

If it is late and She is there, or our schedules do not match, often it happens that do find Her busy in Her own things, or sometimes I find Her sleeping. When it happens I may end up having tears in my eyes. Well, I am like that. I don’t know what it is, maybe it is a combination of things, that sacred silence, the sound of Her breath, the little movements, and then silent power of awareness. The awareness that She exists.

It happens that She may sleep while I work, and vice-versa. I love that, I own that moments as treasures, I feel Her mind body totally purely busy in being all She is, She is there, here, and everywhere. None of us is doing anything at all related to what we share, and still I feel Her as much as someone can feel. She has me, in those moments, and She is happy to to have me, and hold me, and me, my Adored, I am in awe to have You.

Have me, hold me, own my love.

Then, i undress, I get under the sheets, by Her, close to Her, with Her and my world is perfect. Silently perfect

There is no day in which I do not write. In my every day there is some writing, as much as in my life there is eating, running, smiling, sleeping, loving.

“What do you write ?”

I have been asked various times, or even

“And exactly what are you writing about?”

It was annoying to be asked that, a violation, almost. Now it makes me smile. There is no thing I do not write about. It is aligning my thoughts, it is spreading them, it is shouting needs, or graciously expressing them, or ferociously defending ideas, or chanting my passions, or or or or.
I do not write well, no. At school I was not brilliant in writing, I was going off track, sometimes writing too much, or writing what I was not supposed to write about.
I have always been a good student but writing, no.
Life is strange, it was the thing I was putting my soul in and yet it was the one I kept for me and not shining at it at all.
I do write every day. I do even like the simple act of writing besides the content I do put in.
I do like the move of the pen on the paper, I like the words forming and then I like how it just goes. I like how the river of thoughts become a line of ink and my inner world finds its way into existing out of me. There are times when it leaves me exhausted, other times it is a boost. There are times when it is a lullaby, other times it is a battle; some times a rainbow, some times a storm.

I write to make lists, I write to tell difficult things, I write to pull my dears close to my heart, or to fight demons.

It took years but i am ok with it, it is part of me.
Look, I am writing “about writing” right now, and it makes actually sense, it is my peace. I do not think everyone should do it, on the contrary I think everyone is different and to my eyes it is beautiful to see that what for me writing means is for someone else drawing, or dancing, or watching the moon, or or or or.

To me it is a mix of things, I need the writing but I do also need something physical, such as reading, playing music, taking walks, doing some sports, howling, loving, crying, eating.

Yet writing is writing, and it exist.

Just saying

Category: Diary

Silently

On Writing, and me