Today I think about how pale I am.
Pale-faced like the ticking round clock on the wall.
Pale in topics, experiences, life lived; carrying essentials but lacking in spice and flavour.
Bleached white, unstained. Not pure. Just bland, waiting; a new canvas of infinite possibilities that fear will ever keep unmarked.
I return again to the words of Doc Luben: “How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?”
How do we learn to love our unpainted canvas?
.
June 20, 2025
Comments
All submitted comments are held for moderation before being posted, and are always posted anonymously.
Comments that contain any potential personally identifiable information will be edited before being posted.
Comments may be edited or deleted before being published at the discretion of the site owner.