I’m going through what I have come to decide is a monumental transition period. To deal with the turbulence of said transition period, I have begun writing in every moment between moments in which I catch myself feeling. Sometimes it feels like a greedy escape, I haven’t decided if it’s unhealthy yet.
The days feel endless, a week feels like three. The immensity of that which holds the hands of growth has never been so comprehensible. Not until I stand face to face with the future, will I bathe in the inexplicable calm of knowing.
I want to write! I want to write! All of a sudden I’ve poured words all over my paper and an eyesore of colours and textures and everything that is anything is flowing and dripping and drying into the most insignificant stain of what I even felt. The grotesque and the beautiful. Who did that?
Diary of Femme will see some of the mess that is gently washed from inside me, in the most delicate effort to tend to emotional wounds, internally and externally inflicted, past and present. It will also see images in vivid colours. Colours of the sunset sky spoken into skin touching skin. Everyday I teach myself things that may or may not be real. They will be here too.
I’m not unhappy, but I feel very low very often. This is a love-hate, because I find myself barren of inspiration in moments of content.
Almost all of my posts here, will be translated from my handwritten journals onto the keys of my computer. Things don’t flow the same when it’s not pen to paper. Words don’t hold the same value when it doesn’t burn to finish the last sentence and thoughts must be translated as quickly as possible with the most precise use of words. Here, it’s all malleable and all much of a muchness when words are written so quickly and removed even quicker.
My name is Quinika Fern Davis, people call me Quin. Sometimes I spend a full day on the outside looking in.