There are those days when pages fill with ink by the pair and words are still left unsaid, unwritten.
There are those days when the good and the beautiful overwhelm and there aren’t enough songs to sing, days when the rain and the wind of confusion and uncertainty need to be written away.
There are those days, I write because I simply must write, not just because I want to.
But there are those days. With pen and journal in hand, I sit a long time just staring at empty pages. The only words that I write is the date at the top of the page.
Not because the day is hard, but because the day is good.
Not because the heart is too full or too empty, but because it is content.
Not because life is painful, but because in spite of pain, it is beautiful too.
Not because there is nothing to say, but because some times, even words and paper journals just can’t capture life as it really is.
So there are those days when the pages stay blank, and the words stay tucked away in my heart, but the life in those days is lived rich and full.
And those days, even for those who must write, are good days.