Hopes and dreams, doubts and fears
Poems and prose throughout the years
My notebooks hold
The tales untold
The joys, the pain, the laughter, tears
There is something elegant about composing in handwriting. The swirls and whirls of ink, the scratched out mistakes, smears on the paper… These are the truest expressions of my heart. In this electronic world, some might think it foolish or sentimental to keep a notebook. Maybe it is. But my notebooks are a little anchor to the past. They are my ideas, raw and unfiltered. Phrases, fragments of sentences, bits of conversation, rants and ravings I will never put anywhere for anyone else to see. It’s mean, it’s dirty it’s unforgiving and unforgivable. It’s hopeful, uplifting, inspired and inspirational. It’s art and it’s garbage. It’s marvelous and embarrassing. It’s beautiful and it’s ugly. And totally, completely mine.