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.