My writing....

has all been focused elsewhere. All my thoughts, unedited, poured out on paper and mailed away. I can't revisit it, re-read, edit or change it. It's out there, in His hands being studied. He is making a study of my dichotomous life, calling out my bullshit, polishing my armor. The process is loving, kind and painful. No one has ever cared like this before. I've never loved like this before. It's new, raw, committed, honest. I miss this venue of writing, but I've got nothing left to say.