Writing a free-writing journal can be a de-stressing experience, but it has not featured here or on my writing blog for a time because I use most of my free-writing for my stories. But here goes today:
Each day, as it grows out of the old one, is an island in itself. It is surrounded by the seas of yesterday and tomorrow, but for those brief hours, it is all its own, and in its span an entire lifetime may be lived.
Strange, that given one day, you can grab at each of its moments, its minutes, its hours, stretch them out in the sun, lay them out one by one, one after the other like fresh washing—pristine, clean smelling. Examine each till it expands and swells under the glare of your scrutiny, as it lays itself bare, vulnerable, ready to be handled at your will.
And then, you pick it up, toss it carelessly aside, this today, this flower that has bloomed in your heart, your hands, your very existence, you toss it out and about and do not pay attention.
Seize the moment, hah, what garbage, you tell yourself. And before you know it, there is a new day, and the old one is gone.
Word count 300(sigh, again ! )