Summer is finally here, the heat, the sweat, the short pants. So your legs aren’t perfect, so what? So you’re covered in bruises from playing sports, from playing it rough, from playing hard the game of life? Wear your bruises with pride, those marks of warrior strength on your still pale legs.
Don’t let them tell you you’re unworthy of the comfort of short clothes on warm days, don’t let them tell you bruises on pale flesh are not what a woman should wear. They are marks of an active life, of enough health to roll and run and climb, and just as well marks of honour for falling down and getting up, for hitting obstacles and still moving on.
Wear your bruises with pride, and flash them all a knowing grin. Make them jealous of daring to be bold and brave and full of life, no matter how often you stumble and hit the ground.
I have a lot of thoughts in my head these days, but they are somewhat vague, some hazy, some blurred, some to quick and complex to be caught in words yet. I want to write more again, more often, more organized. I tried to push forward in life and suppressed that creative voice inside, tried to find a more grown-up creativity, tried to press myself in a mold I won’t ever fit. Lately I’ve been going back to reading my old stories – the really crazy, surreal ones (mostly SciFi fanfiction with random strange occurrences) – and to watching the old shows that had been my refugium in teenage years. I want to write again, and try to voice my old sense of wonder again, to put down the absurd episodes my brain brings up whenever given the opportunity to breathe. Maybe someday I’ll find a story that will be wondrous enough to captivate others.
Also, future not clear yet. Destination unknown. Vague ideas, nothing tangible.