The birth of a resolution.
Write. Every. Day.
Every. Damn. Day.
Even when you'd rather not. Especially when that's the case.
When you're so overwhelmed you can't think. When you're so creatively focused and inspired that the words pour out of you, thick and steady, like the honey you found at the farmers market whose taste was surprisingly bitter, but finished sweet.
Because it is a muscle meant to be worked, craving the burning sensation meant to indicate growth.
Because you can. Because you must. Because you know it's inside of you, this passion. This itch.
Because the person you love more than anything - who loves you more than you understood the infinite capacities of love to be possible - encourages you to.
Because you have a story and it's beautiful and boundless and so very messy. A story that turned out, in most respects, to be entirely different than the one you wrote for yourself. Because you are imperfect and human and silly and flawed and a little cocky and wildly, madly, deeply in love.