I’m still a child at heart. I like it that way. I still grin from ear to ear while watching Beauty and the Beast and The Little Mermaid. I grew up wanting to be an archeologist. As a teenager I wanted to write for a magazine. Maybe a Christian magazine, for young girls where I could write words to inspire. Just to let them know that it’s going to be okay, that they are not alone in whatever they are feeling or going through. To spread the message of hope and love. I like being a friend. I believe that love is the most powerful thing. That’s why we’re told to guard our hearts. It’s the reason a broken heart is such a tragic thing. The greatest gift someone can give is to just be there, with their full heart. I don’t particularly know why I’m rambling like this, but there it is. And it doesn’t really matter if it all makes sense. At least not now. Not in moments like this where it’s just me, myself and I typing on the computer. This is what I’ve always done. For as long as I can remember. I’m a thinker, if nothing else. Always having the desire to get the most random, little details of thought and life down on paper- or Word document. I used to think it’d be so neat if our minds were some sort of typewriter, where like magic we could think something and it would appear on paper. I don’t know how any such thing is possible. I suppose that is what I mean by magic. My thinking can be silly.
