Where did all that gushy stuff go? There was a day when I wrote volumes to my new bride. Last night she pulled out her box of journals and letters from me to her. You know what? I didn’t write a sentence or a paragraph or two. I wrote pages and pages; literally wrote volumes.
Where did it go? Squeezed out. Relegated from first importance to non-important.
I’m making a commitment to self to revive something from almost two decades ago. Make new habits. Make the items of first importance, first importance.
Is it the things I do? No, not really. It’s that I do them. It’s that they’re special to her. This is something I can do. This is something that is special to her. So why not?
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