A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-Five-Hundred-And-Eighty-Seven

There are times when I write something that I thing might be very good, but it is honest in a way that might cause pain to someone I care about.  A part of me doesn't really care about that, honestly. Another part of, to be even more honest, is actual cruel enough to want to do that harm.  I am sure that is part of how I wind up writing things of this sort, at least some of the time.  But much of the time, those things are purged, at least somewhat, by the act of writing, or, even if the feelings have not changed or been vented out safely, I still have enough awareness and regard for others that I don't just let them go.  At the same time, though, I do save this work and hold on to it, as if I am just waiting.

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