I Used to Write

I used to write.

They aren't long words or fancy words or profound words.  But they are words and they belong to me.

I used to write.

Never about anything important or amazing or particularly beautiful.  But it was my life and where I was and what I was learning.  Sometimes I would go back and read something and think about how incredibly ridiculous the whole thought process was.  Sometimes I would go back and relive my "dark nights of the soul" or the shifts that changed the lay of the land for the rest of my life.

I used to write.

I don't know if I ran out of things to say or if I stopped thinking or if I came to the conclusion that none of these words mattered anyway, but I stopped putting them out here.  Maybe because I didn't want someone else to read them.  Maybe because I didn't want to read them.

I used to write.

When I had time.  Or more time.  Or me time.  Or used my time more wisely. Or used my time at all.

I used to write.

It was an exercise.  In stretching.  In seeing.  In feeling.  In futility.

I used to write.
I used to write.
I used to write.

And I will again.