Sunday, April 01, 2018
The real shame arises in the morning.
I once told myself, "never write at night. Wait for the morning, when the emotions are more balanced."
But how can I, when the inspiration is overflowing?
I don't wait - I never really do.
But then with the first opening of my eyelids in the morning, shame shoots back at me, into my stomach. Nausea. Regret. As if, all that inspiration that was colliding and kaleidoscoping through the venture of the night, all become little enemies I've amplified around my world. Little capsules of vulnerability and naked exposure, into my raw heart.