I want to write I do.
I want to pour my heart out onto these pages but I am guarded more than ever.
Fear grips me well and truly. I hate it.
It’s when a raven comes along and starts poking it’s beak at her exterior she starts to crumble a little and then shes left wondering how much the raven will poke before she submits to something she is not quite sure of the path it will take. When the wolf may well roll over and give in. If only for brief moments the curiosity is there and the puzzlement of why the raven has that effect on her. Sometimes people cross your paths in life and there is an instant understanding that does not need to be spoken. Sometimes there’s just confusion. Sometimes there are other things that can affect a path.
Sometimes logic prevails and you see things for what they are and realise it’s far too much to deal with and you don’t even know how to.
As much as another is pushing me to speak I cannot.
Other factors, lessons to be learnt that are not your own but others. Frustrating and at the same time a sense of annoyance.
A wolf stands at the edge of the forest, watching and waiting. She resigns herself to sit quietly with a sigh.
She is there, she is loyal, shes not going anywhere but she is quiet and resigned.
Still it’s not easy, there is a sense of not quite loss but something is changing not for one but a few.
Maybe I am the only one who sees it. But I know I am not. Words are spoken and I understand it is not only my frustration.
But even if I do speak I know it will not be me that can change things. That part is not mine to own.
Either way I don’t like this space I am in.
Trust in the process.
Something has changed and shes not quite sure what or how but she doesn’t like it.
She misses her friend.

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