****My second piece from my writing class last night.****

I usually sit in Valley’s class and write about my dad and bring along the requisite tears. but I can’t find that tonight or lately at all. I can’t find that heart in my writing. I can find the “cheesey romance” factor. I can find the not so sexy sex scene but I can’t find the heart.

I know it’s sitting in a box in my office. It’s sitting on the floor with several Christmas presents, still yet to be given, on top of it. The papers, the words, the scrawl of his hand is sitting behind me. Always behind me because I guess I’m afraid to put it in front of me because then I have no choice but to face it.

But I have vowed to search and find that heart, that heart that resides in the chest, this year, the year of 2013. I’ve waited long enough. I need to search the box and find the truth. Find the truths of my existence that I’m scared to admit. Find the truths of my childhood that were hidden behind a perfectly painted picket fence.

It’s time, I know with every fiber of my being to face those journals of my dead father. It’s time to get to the heart of my writing and the heart of my life. But until I hand out the Christmas presents and wipe off the dust, I’m sticking to my cheesey romance novel because sometimes it’s so much easier to write without your heart.

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