When you discard me, be sure to close the lid on the bin. Walk away. Don’t look back to reach in... I’ve already moved on. This side of the road, I’ve been discarded here before... I know my way home by heart. They call it muscle memory. And my heart always remembers. She never forgets.
There are moments when the world closes in on me quickly. Moments when I have forgotten how full-tilt crazy things can get in just a blink.
Writing is therapy. Get the words and thoughts out of your head and onto the screen or paper. Breathe.