Blank Pages

I bought the notebook with blank pages because I thought someday you’d draw me a picture, but you’re gone now and I’m here with blank pages—lots of blank pages. So I’m filling them up.

I make mistakes and I write in pen, so there are scribbles. It isn’t always pretty, but they are my mistakes. I look at them and learn from them.

I am writing words of hope because I know that in everything, I have two choices: to get better or to get bitter. Bitterness is not an attractive quality, and I do not desire to have it in my life, cutting into my lungs, keeping me from breathing in all the grace I’m given if I will just let what hardens me heart go. Just to let go.

I am writing words of love because even though there is plenty for me to let go of, I know that there are also things people I must hold onto. Because grace is more than something I’m given, it is something I’m called to give. And give freely. I have friends and family that I must cherish. There are relationships in which I’m constantly blessed. Yeah, it isn’t always easy. I’m still blessed beyond belief.

I’m picking up my pen, even when it is hard. I’m writing something down. Something permanent. It may not mean that I will always think or feel the same way, but it means that this is all been something that has affected me and changed my core.

I’m choosing to become better. Not bitter.

Starting today.

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