During our last house cleaning surge I found a cardboard box with “Jenna writing” scribbled on the outside. I couldn’t open it; felt like Pandora’s box of tears and rage. 

They say nothing bad happens to a writer….maybe that’s true on paper.

I don’t think grief is an unusual place for creativity to ignite, though I do think it’s complicated.
Whether or not to accept the shiny gift wrapped in deep sorrow.

Into the keyboard and onto the paper all of it went like a map of my insides on the outside,
until the pain inside of me began transforming into something else altogether. 

A dear friend told me you’ll miss the pain one day. Maybe that day I’ll open the box. 

Will it still be pain or will I only find love?