Regrets

I regret not writing more.

Not writing more letters to friends and family.

Not writing more love notes to my daughter, tucking them in her lunch box, leaving them on her pillow.

Not writing the stories that grow in my brain and bring tears to my eyes as the characters try, fail, succeed, connect.

Waiting.

I am a much-published writer of to do lists.

But I cannot write “Write” on a to do list and then check it off.

Ever.

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