I went on vacation. I read 1.5 books. I swam, got sun, laughed, shopped, even prayed a little.
“Being happy feels like a betrayal. How can I smile when my dad is dead?”
And I wrote. I got new story ideas. I let characters come alive in my head, all while very aware that people I love(d) are no longer alive. This might be progress. I may be getting past the darkness. I might be at the place where pen and paper are once again my friends.
This is good, right?
xoxo
Raquel Ivelisse