the hours of doubt

These are the hours of doubt, when too many words have spilled out — unchecked — like contraband. They’re editable, erasable. Too many are harsh, too many revealing, too many true. And part of me flees to the drawing board — the erasing board. And part of me clutches at my own sleeve, drawing me back to the chair to relax and to say, “what’s done is done, and it is you.”

    • Ashley
    • December 23rd, 2005

    I’m thankful for the end of this post, because I feel the same way. Sometimes I think that I don’t know you very well, especially personally, but all I have to do is read your posts. They are like a window to your soul, and what I can see is beautiful. Thank you, and God bless.


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