Never Going Away

The anonymous nature of writing helps me process. I write my feelings, I write my ideas, and I hope so much for my own skill to rise.
I have high expectations. For myself. I’ve written many things just in the past year. The posts on this blog have helped me understand. Or, I’ve finally gotten to a point where I understand myself better.
Writing is a doorway for me. I’ve probably typed it before, but it’s a tool I use. One that guides me. It tears me down, builds me high, but I’m the one stopping my own success. Or, I should put– “Success” – can’t really call anything I’ve done anything more than it is———
It’s a block. Something I lack. Something I regret.
I don’t regret writing. Never. I have endless hope bundled together with my desire for writing.
I only regret my own lack of confidence.
But–
I don’t think I’m a good writer.
That is my biggest regret. No matter what I do, or write, I always have this nagging in the back of my head.
Except–
Somewhere, deep down, buried. Still blooming. With a single leaf stretching towards the sky.
I still have hope.

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