She is in the middle of her life, married for too many years, and she’s still confused about life. She is both happy and sad at the same time and cannot understand why. Her hair is soft waves and she cares too much. She writes in her notebook, words, works she probably will erase, or rip out and tear up, or pour over weeks from now wondering, how did I come up with that?
Will she blog or write or read? Can she find herself in her groove? Is it too late to find the success she seeks?
She writes elegantly with her pen… If she was somewhere a few people would wonder who she was, what she was doing. Others would not notice her at all.
Image by Janice Treadwell found on Pinterest