I am a life-long journal-er. I can't help it, it soothes something within me nobody else can touch. It's my own, it's the blank page upon page where I pour in my soul without fear or apprehension. My little red journal has no expectations and I have no limits for what I share with it- after all, it is meant solely as a release of an ever-streaming flow of contemplation rather than self-inflicted speculation. In my little red journal, I make no apologies for what the ink leaves behind, for it is raw and real and nothing more. It offers me an opportunity to remember the things I might forget, and react in the future to the thoughts and events I might not have understood, often with deeper understanding and clarity, and just as often with even fewer answers. Although, this platform, being as it is so accessible to the world, disregards the privacy we now assume as luxury in this modern age. While I have no intention on sharing here what is meant for little red, a portion I think will do. So, here, is my portion- or in the words of Whitman and then Keating, here is my verse.
"That you are here - that life exists, and identity, that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"
-Walt Whitman (Captain John Keating, Dead Poet Society)
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