The Song of All Songs

I'm just a girl who loves; let me show you my world.

I Read; I Write; I Think; I Love.

I am a writer. I use my writing as a refuge, as a dream-catcher, as a place to laugh at myself and to cry my most bitter tears. I use it to come closer to God and to myself; to get to know myself through the words that pour out of me. Sometimes I astonish myself. Other times, I disappoint myself terribly. Some days, I know that I can make it in the literary world. I can see that I am good enough, that I do indeed have the talent and insight and openness of mind and heart that it takes to be a successful writer. Other days, I see only my mistakes, my wretched prose and horrible poetry. My overly flowery, sickeningly sweet words make me gag, and my predictable story lines and two-dimensional characters make me want to hurl my computer into a wall.

I seek God through music and writing and thoughts. I try my best to live my life in accordance with His Word. I fail miserably at times. I know. I know that the only thing that keeps me going is His love for me. His forgiveness covers my sins, and for that I am ever grateful. I will sing His praises to the heavens, and hope that people will hear me and listen.

I am a woman. I am a girl. I am a human being. I am my father’s daughter, and my Father’s daughter. I don’t write often enough, and when I do, I write too much. I love C.S. Lewis and Christopher Paolini. I have at least a dozen books that I have purchased and have yet to read, but I have hundreds that I have read. I like the smell of freshly-cut grass and the sound of popcorn popping. I like my pool water almost too cold to swim in, and my coffee sweet and almost too hot to drink. When I’m mad, you’ll know it. If I don’t like you, you’ll know it. If you’re not sure, then I probably haven’t made up my mind. I had my first kiss this summer, at the ripe old age of nineteen.

I hope you’ll take the time to get to know me, because what you see here isn’t everything. I didn’t mention my hot temper or my cold shoulder. I didn’t talk about my rare tears or my tight hugs. You haven’t experienced my smart mouth or my addiction to lipbalm. You don’t know that my room is a mess 50% of the time, and spotless the other 50%. You aren’t aware of the fact that, while I may seem addicted to my phone when I have it on me, I can go days without looking at it if I don’t happen to think of it.

Or maybe you are. But there’s more to me.


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