I used to write about happy things. Beauty. Joy. I used to turn bad things into good things, until I realised I wasn’t doing myself any favours. You can’t change a bad situation if you keep dressing it in glamorous clothes.
But when I’m going through painful periods, like right now, it’s hard to know what to write at all. Anything seems like the perfect thing to say. Anything to move the flow and release whatever it is that needs to leave my heart.
I bought a beautiful book yesterday, Matt Haig’s The Midnight Train. I love Matt’s books, and this one seems just as lovely as the first book of his that I read: The Midnight Library.
I think I just need to go away. No noise. No children. No anyone saying anything remotely painful or dense. Just me. And a fire. And some beautiful rain pattering away.
That would soothe the aching quiet, I’m so very sure.
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