Fact or Fiction

Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."

Five years ago when I locked up my muse, put away my pens and burned the pages I'd spent years bleeding into it was because I had reached a point in my writing where all I could write was the truth. That rawness, the pure nakedness that brutal honesty provides scared me.

So I ran. I changed my identity. I silenced my voice. I hid the uniqueness that I had spent my entire life developing because I was afraid.

Now, five years late I sit and stare at empty pages craving the release of the truth.I want to feel special. I want to feel complete in the only way I have ever known how. By fully embracing that which I love. But, I feel like I am completely incapable of writing it, because in writing it I have to accept it. The truth is a hard, cold place. It provides no warmth, no comfort, no hope.

I know that until I can write one true sentence, the truest sentence I know like Hemingway suggests, I'm doomed. Breathing, but a shell of who I am meant to be.

I just need to find my truth.