Reflection is such a beautiful thing.

What is romance without a little lust?
What is love without a little hate?
What are you without a little me?

Sometimes it worries me that I have always had a better relationship with the written word than anything else in my life.
It worries me that my top priorities are motorbikes, music and words.
Does this make me so different?
Does it make me so wrong?
Will I ever change?
Probably not.
Why can I write/type better than I can actually say it?
Why doesn’t my brain allow me to process the words to my mouth?
Why is it only ever to my hands?
Am I missing something?
As always there are too many questions,
And never enough answers.
So I sat there and cried.
I let the salty wet tears fall from my eyes.
I wept about the house I didn’t want to be in.
The situation that has slowly encompassed me.
I sobbed because actually, yes, I did have self belief
I knew I could do it.
I always have.
I have just never allowed myself to believe that, it’s the old notion of daring to dream.
But on this occasion, I shed tears because for the first time in my life,
Somebody outside of my family, who doesn’t have to be biased, who doesn’t have to keep me happy, who doesn’t even know me.
Somebody else believed in me too.
Just knew that inside of me, I had what it took, that I could do it.
I don’t think you could ever guess how valuable that tiny hint of belief is.
It will keep me going when the world is eating me alive.
It will keep my pen pressed to my notebook when my mind is empty.
It will do it’s best to keep the fire burning on twelve hour shifts.
Belief is a brilliant thing.