if you weren't already
Before I started writing here, I would keep lots of private writings - on napkins, ATM receipts, coasters, freebie notepad tearings. When the valve started to whistle, there I'd go. And those snippets would be mine and no one else's...a silent, crinkled, unshared testament to the moments I couldn't help but give form to.
Now, the bits don't crinkle. You can watch them in realtime as they crawl from my head to my chest and out my fingers.
But I've discovered something else - that I can't share everything. There's a post that's been burning a hole in my pocket for days, but it has to stay here in draft, unread. Just mine, like the manila folder of scratchings in the file drawer. And there's a part of me that's real lonely about that.