Christopher and I have always gone for walks in the evening.? It’s something I’ve always craved.? When I lived with my Father, I wasn’t permitted that small joy.? Instead, I’d sit in our cramped yard, looking up over suburban rooftops.

Especially now that autumn has broken, I love the small luxury of a stroll in the night, with the man that I love.? The crisp smell of the cool night air takes you to memories, and the calmer appeal of the upcoming holidays.

I was simply going to write about this out of appreciation for the smaller things in life.? In the wake of my emotional distress, I smelled the refreshing outside air through our opened window.

I hadn’t even begun to get the thought down, I was sitting here thinking about the joy of it.? Christopher came into the room, sat beside me and asked if I’d like to go for a walk… Now that was something to smile about.

My greatest therapy has always been through words. There are many causes and reasons I find, as to why I have refrained from doing so in recent years. All of those do not matter to me though, and I refuse to let myself ponder them, because I feel more than anything they are just excuses. I am stubborn with myself.

I have come to be apart of an environment that I love, a place that makes me happy and at ease. The rest is all in my mind. Once again, I know the cause of the effects I throw into my world. Most of all, I know how to prevent and mend these wounds from worsening.

Write what I think and feel, but firstly, do not allow myself to stare into space and blank out my thoughts with nothingness. Nothing has changed, except my susceptibility to becoming an “adult”. I have said a long while that I admire children for their open inquisitiveness, positive persistance and boundless creativity. As Christopher’s Father once told him, “Never grow up.” It’s the spirit behind that approach to life that I am allowing myself to lack. That spirit kept me chugging through life for all those years I didn’t have a nurturing environment.

So, the little things may mount on me now, and I kick myself for allowing this, after all the petty frustration. Life is as simple as I’d like to make it, and I may never give into an unexpected dive in my life, but it’s due time for me to not give into the non-existant downs in my mind.

I criple myself by cutting off the things I enjoy with the notion that I “cannot”. I am fully capable, nothing has or ever will change there.

It is incredibly odd that positive thinking in relation to myself can make me cry. For me to sit here and view a photograph of myself smiling, telling myself I am a beautiful woman with the talent to write rhythmically and all else I know to be wonderful and great about myself… I’ve heard it all before, from many others, but I’ve never let myself feel that tingly sensation of being complimented and feeling it is the truth.

This had been kept in files on my computer, hidden for years, until the past half-year. I have re-discovered it for what it’s worth, and although I struggle to hold its meaning in my mind, I know it is truth. The truth can be told so simply, in so few words, and hold the perfect key to what I am wanting to come by.