I feel like a photograph that's been left in the developer too long - overexposed and not very clear. And I'm trying to start sentences with "I feel."
I feel...tired. Restless sleep. Chaotic deadlines. Responsibilities. They leave me wishing for quiet and a space in which to disappear for awhile.
I feel...impatient. Waiting for answers. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for a promise. Why does it feel so impossible to live "in the moment?"
I feel...uninspired. Museless. Blank sheets of paper glare at me, begging to be filled with words that don't materialize. I scurry like a squirrel, preparing for winter - long and cold.
I feel...alone. Never really lonely, but disconnected. There is no one to reach into my soul and see what's there.
I feel...overexposed. I've reached out, worn my heart on my sleeve, spoken my truth, taken the risk, yet the picture of myself remains fuzzy. Not sure what I see when I look in the mirror.
I feel...unfinished. Writing the next chapter of my life has never been so difficult. If I'm being called to move forward, I need to see the door, and it needs to be open. Wide. With sunshine on the other side, and perhaps a strong hand to pull me over the threshold.
I still have the negative...I can make a new print. One that is clear and vibrant, filled with emotion and passion. And then perhaps, I can leave the dark room behind.