I’ve been writing morning pages for seven months now with no missed days. The page was always there in my notebook Just patiently waiting until I was ready to commit. Imagine all the things that lie dormant and in wait. Waiting for motion, Waiting for something bigger, Waiting for the right time, Forgotten, Re-shelved, Undone, And redone. Just waiting. And I always held the key Even if I forgot Or temporarily lost it. Once found, I used the door To the page And found myself waiting. To be great, To heal, To creatively express And be an authentic version of myself. And that is why I show up Again and again For myself Because I’m the only one who can.