unfinished business



When my husband died, I was too preoccupied to think of myself. I took care of things and breathed only to survive.

A few years passed, and I began to think about my life. My identity as a wife was gone along with my life partner. I felt lost and incomplete. I quit working for others and started to write and draw in hopes of finding my place, my life mission.

I am still not sure about my life or identity but now understand that I am forever a work in progress, incomplete, just because I refuse to grow up.


For The Daily Post’s daily prompt:Incomplete



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