Out of pain, beauty is born. My creativity springs not from a place of happiness, of bright lights and shiny bubbles but from gut wrenching pain which engulfs me to the core.
To rise out of this pit of darkness, I must direct my pain somewhere, and somehow, I find comfort in putting pen to paper.
As the tip of my pen touches the lines, letter by letter, my pain is transferred from my body to the physical realm, like molecules diffusing in the atmosphere attaching themselves physically but unseen by the naked eye.
Bit by bit, the pain subsides, leaving only a dull ache where a sharp, hot pain once resided.
It doesn’t leave completely but it’s a start, progress in the right direction.
If I keep at it, I tell myself, I may not only see the light, but feel it, maybe lighting up some of the darkness that comfortably resides within my core.