I have to write

There is something in my whole being that is telling me to write.
It is becoming more than a passion, more than the air that I breathe.
I feel that it is me. It every part of my being.
It is the blood pumping in my veins. It is in my heartbeat.
It is my secret.

I feel there is something in me knocking and trying to get me to open the door to my imagination.

I see a chink through the letterbox, and the gold glowing light penetrates my eyes and wipes away all the pretence of my world, all my fears, all my worries.

All I have to do is open the door, easy though it sounds, I have no door handle. The handle is on the other side. To open it, it must be opened on the other side by me. An impossibility I know, but I am so keen to find out how.

I no longer want to run from, I want to run towards. I want to crash down all barriers. I want to shout and sing and laugh and play and dance and live.

I am barely living now. I feel like I am on a life support machine. Keeping my in a place. Pretending that it is keeping me safe, making me think that If I move from this spot, I will die, worse still...that I will fail.

Why is it keeping me here? So that I cannot live.

And I want to live....I want to live so much....