some days the words come easily to me. almost too easily. i have to write for pages and pages in excruciating detail to make sure i get everything down, to make sure i remember it all for future reference. it is those days that fill up my journal in three months, that make sure i describe every moment, every feeling, because i am too afraid that it will soon be gone from my memory.
but then there are other days when the thought of putting it all into words, pen to paper, makes me feel nauseous, and i don't know if it's because the events themselves are too painful or too fresh, or if it's because i'll never forget how this feels. the writing, the preserving, the recording, won't help me to recall because i always will. the confusion, the joy, the surety, the eventual peace.
but i still carry my journal with me everywhere, because maybe the words will come soon, and i need to be ready.