I can't remember the last time I sat down with my laptop for the express purpose of writing. But this morning is free, this morning is mine. I have no place calling my name until the afternoon and there is nothing I'd rather be doing.
I've missed this time.
I've needed this time.
November feels like a dream. I can only remember glimpses and moments. I remember those days at the beach as if they were a fantasy my mind created. Those memories feel like a fog, thick and present and impossible to hold onto, so easily carried away by the breeze.
Now, somehow, it's the 18th of December. We are a week away from Christmas and time like this, time to sit and think, write and sip my coffee while listening to music, time like this feels like the greatest luxury. It is a gift greater than money, greater than jewels, greater than any item on my wish list.
There hasn't been much of an opportunity to look back at those 50,000+ words I wrote last month. But I've been missing Violet, her story, her world. I'm glad to have some time to spend with her, even if it's only an hour or two.
