The Freedom of Truth

You would think I’d have had enough. All of the assignments, the lectures, the stress. Yet, I have spent all day waiting for 5pm. Not for the rest or the break away from work, but for writing.

The relief of knowing I no longer have restrictions placed on my writing to be academic, to be reflective. I can write to enjoy it, write to unwind. The joy of it, the satisfaction of the words coming together and all of it making sense in the end… I have missed it.

Life has taken over and it has taken ‘writing for pleasure’ away from me. Instead, all I have had is writing to meet the domains, to tick boxes on that ever-growing list of things that University ask of us.

I have missed this. I have missed my laptop, missed choosing the font that I want and not the font that University insists we use. All of the little things that make up the bigger ones.

I have missed the freedom of my own truth, my own words, my own self.

I welcome writing back into my life with open arms.

Until the next time.   

Silence

…and so she left, with her head held high and tears in her eyes. The footpath was uneven and overgrown beneath her boots, her thoughts focused not on balance but on not looking back. The face in the shadows behind her, one of anger and remorse, a face that she had once known so, so well. To look back would have been disastrous, for she had once promised his mother she would not speak to him in anger. She would keep her promise, even as the worst had happened, even as her heart hurt with the effort to remain silent.  72472c116dcca355bdd8b632f4170917