Searching for a Former Clarity

I'm getting to that age where people talk about their "Good Old Days", and then someone will immediately say "Man, if I could go back..." 

Personally, I've never had the urge. And I know why.

I look at my life in stages. Like a grand play that I was lucky enough to survive (up until this point, of course). But the struggle and hardships that came out of those periods--some of which don't hold a candle to what most experience--are things that I would not like to relive. 

First and foremost--despite any embarrassing moments, missed opportunities, and the countless hours of depression that seemed to seep out of ever pore-- I would hate to relieve the journey I had to take to find my voice. 

As a writer, you have one thing that you can fall back on when you're not letting the things you love kill you every day. You have a voice. One that seems to sync and fuse the brain, heart, and guts together to actively create your works and, ultimately, save you from yourself.

My voice has always been my salvation. Without it, I am nothing. It has always been a noble paladin with a lit torch, locating the demons in the darkness of my imagination, bringing them to light, and then spilling their blood across white pages. 

I am but her humble narrator. And, even now, it's comforting to write about her.

I'm at a low point this morning. I'll snap out of it soon. She'll find me again when she's ready. Then, my muse and I will dance once again. 

Cheers,

~Torres