I always assumed I would remember things, so I didn’t think I needed to write anything down.
Perhaps not all of it. But the vital things.
The important times. things I wished to keep.
As it happens, I forgot more than I remembered.
Not because my focus was diverted.
Simply put, there was nowhere for it to remain.
Everything was stuck in my head.
Random ideas. Activities. I hadn’t dealt with old emotions.
Everything became trapped. Nothing changed.
At night, when I lay down, I would feel like my mind was racing.
However, I was unable to tell you with what.
It was simply full. And noisy.
So I tried writing.
Sort of by chance.
I had no intention of doing so.
I once picked up a piece of paper and scrawled,
“I felt strange today. I have no idea why.
That was it.
However, it was beneficial.
It wasn’t deep.
simply because it was available.
I now occasionally write little things.
No regulations. No pattern.
It can occasionally be a sentence.
Sometimes I don’t want to lose more than one word.
I never go back to read them again. I don’t have to.
The fact that they landed somewhere was what counted.
Using a sticky note doesn’t have to be attractive.
You take a receipt out of your pocket.
whatever is available.
Your life isn’t being chronicled.
You’re releasing fragments of it.
And in some way, by doing so,
My ability to hear myself has improved.
Not always. But more than previously.
And that’s something.