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I believe that as we experience life, our writing changes. For me, there is a depth to it, because of the things I have encountered. It’s almost like the love I professed for my husband when I first met him–though passionate and wild, it was somewhat superficial. What did I truly know of love, trust, endurance, committment, and loyalty? Over the years, it has matured into a deeper, truer devotion because of our shared experiences. But I do not despise the younger experience of love. I treasure it as one of the happiest times in my life. But little did I know how a love could be tested, and a heart could be tried. I did not know that I would stand with this man at the funerals of those I loved, or share the devastating heartbreak, and genuine happiness that only a child can bring. I did not forsee the times that he would see me through sickness and¬†incapacitating hurt, or the days that I would be there to encourage him, when all the world had walked away. I cling to young love and to mature love, for both are part of my journey, I am thrilled that I found excitement and passion, but I am eternally grateful that I found a forever friend, and a shelter from the storm. So it is with the seasons of our writing. They evolve with our life experiences, and reach a greater depth with every tragedy, and every joyful event. Sometimes the greatest challenge is to be willing to reveal ourselves, to remove the masks, and to bear our souls, though sometimes it will cost us. To be transparent is to risk being exposed, and once we are honest, we are truly vulnerable. But how much better to take that risk, and be willing to share our soul, so that others can be comforted in some way–so that someone can say, “I am not alone.” Until the day I die, my soul will forever express my feelings with the written word, which frees me from the prison of emotions yet unspoken. If I can just get it down on paper, I can survive it, learn from it, and receive inspiration to continue my journey. And someday it’s gonna be worth it all…

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