Writing

On some days, it’s a few words

strewn across the paper

like friends who no longer talk to each other

but in the same room.

On some days, they’re tightly knit

each fighting for it’s space but closer than ever

not letting go and just supporting one another.

On some days, it’s lonely.

Like a lover who just got dumped

in the middle of a park, on a bright sunny day.

On some days, it’s a lot.

Like friends catching up after years,

with lots to talk about, leaving no space

for the other to say anything.

On some days, it’s frustrated.

Like the lady who didn’t get what she wanted

at the grocery store.

On other days, it can also peaceful.

Like the rainbow after a rain. Serene, reassuring.

On most days though, I just wish it would

be more calm.

Like my grandma’s garden.

Each flower perfectly nestled in its place,

not a grass out of tune.

And everyday, I sit in front of my journal,

asking my pen what it wants to say to me.

And it tells me everything that I’d need

in the moment.

Whether it’s frustrating, peaceful, lonely, sad, or happy.

It tells me the truth.