flowing.

I signed in to Prose on my laptop today, because some things are difficult to view on my Android browser on my phone.

It's been a long time since I've given this my full attention.

I look at the upper left corner.

It says, Write.

I guided my mouse to the upper left corner. I paused.

Click.

Now an empty screen sits in front of me. It's not as empty as it was before, but there's always more room to fill. No matter how many words are written down, there's still more to write. All the time.

There's still so much more to write.

I feel restless. Unhappy. Empty.

Even though I have so much love in my life, it feels like there's always more room to fill. I'm missing something.

How can you be a hopeful cynic? How can I allow myself to have so much hope when I don't know how to deal with the crash and burn of disappointment? How do I decide to choose happiness?

I could keep focusing on the good.

I don't know how to focus on the good without shoving my negative feelings inside an already full drawer. It's so full, the bottom has collapsed into the drawer below it, and I'm unable to get to the bottom drawer.

I keep telling myself if I could just clean up my drawer-the messy one with jumbled up feelings-I can finally get to the bottom drawer, and see what I've been missing.

Then, I just decide not to. And I continue with my day as a robot whose only directive is to not cry.

YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO CRY.

Only to live. Only to get by. Only to show gratitude. Only to smile, speak positive words, assure people that I'm fine. I just have frequent migraines (which is not completely a lie).

I need to continue to fill the empty space with honest words to myself. Then, maybe I'll share it with the world.