I am writing myself. The slow process offers a chance to reflect on misgivings I have created out of my own virtue. Perspective; I can sense the nests that house hornets and bees. They whirl around me and I tense up, cower, close my eyes into thinly-lined slits.
I am writing for my own recognition. The slow breath and heavy chest moving up and down calm my panic. Words are typed quickly without a second thought, and then a pause arrives. I reflect on experiences in this moment of clarity.
I am writing for myself. I am writing to develop my perceptions of the actions I have taken and the actions I wish to do. Glancing around - frightful and fretful - but still able to find consolation in my equivocal plea. I offer it to myself and I offer it to you.