The firsttime hadn't stuck. She thought she was committed. She thought she'd be true.But within a couple weeks it was over. Tossed aside like yesterday's laundry.kaput.
A lot ofher relationships throughout her life had begun in October. So far none of themwere that lifelong heartmate stay together until-death-do-us-part sort. Why shethought her relationship with writing would be any different was beyond her.The only permanent commitments she had ever made in her life were her tattoos(and one of those was now a cover-up).
But asmuch as her fickle nature was woven into her soul, so was her propensity toforgive herself, and so she took a deep breath one mid May morning and startedagain.
“WriteSomething Every Day”, her new mantra. She could do it. She would do it.
A year this time, she thought.That's attainable. I'll do it for a year.
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