Never wrong.

Sometimes I hear myself talk or read my writings, and I think

Ugh.

It’s hopeful and bright and smart and happy.

Maybe it’s even spiritual and poetic and philosophical.

But is it life?

Is it real, and true?

Am I avoiding stuff, running away from things?

What about

Death.

Cancer.

Poverty.

Breakups.

Violence.

Hatred.

Sadness.

What about darkness?

And then I realize:

Maybe I am just here to bring some light.

To be optimistic for you.

To tell stories that are hopeful and bright and poetic.

To be something you can hang on to in the middle of the death and the breakup and the sadness.

Maybe I don’t have to cover it all.

Maybe I don’t have to be perfectly real or realistic.

And maybe, I don’t know, maybe I am just fucking scared of what is out there, of what is in me, and this is my way to deal with that.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

But there’s one thing I DO know:

I’m expressing life.

I’m an expression of life.

And that can never be wrong.

—

(Photo by @reyslafisher, for Unsplash)