"Emma....I need you to listen to me. I need you to be careful what you write." She said to me. Jessica was my therapist. She was a lighthouse when Hope had been stolen. Hope I had begun writing after I had started seeing Jessica. I had just begun to share with her the disassociation that... Continue Reading →
I feel as if we are all characters written into someone Else's script, just waiting to wake up in the present and realize that we can pick up the pen and take control of the narrative.
Rear-View Mirror by Emma Bush 2011 My past is right behind me I can feel its breath on my neck I can’t run forever my legs are tired I’m out of breath. So afraid of what would happen should I stop and face it, I keep running, keep running hoping time will erase it. I've... Continue Reading →
Home. Your roots, your foundation. No matter the wind that batters, nor the storms that have shaken, nothing, not even time, from your memory and heart, can it be taken. I think of myself as a garden. I think of all of us as gardens. We are born to caretakers and gardeners that we are... Continue Reading →
I need to flip my script.
"There are some things I can't say out loud, but I can write anything."