I’ve wanted to write for some time, but my hands forget the fluid motion to tremors, each time I start. What was once second nature, has turned labor and illegible. And I find, I can no longer phrase together you and I.
The page is littered with edits, lines crossing out the sentences I cannot formulate. The words lie scrambled- a stranger to my chaotic mind. All the pages torn.
You would write of great souls, of documentaries and books that motivated you. Through your writing, I could foresee a better tomorrow. A warrior; a leader; a soldier- you bravely donned a number of hats! My jumbled script and countless annotations, could never compare to your meticulous editing.
You wrote about real stories, while fiction was my closest ally. You would transport the reader into a world of adventure, and possibilities. I liked to explore the many facets of pain and heartbreak. We had only ever intended to bear our soul, in forgotten quotes, and resurrected metaphors. Instead we drowned; in lost translation. The downfall of one another- my messy doodles shook the very foundation, of your practical mind.
How are you my dear?
It has been so long, since you last wrote. And I find, I am not the same writer, as when we last said goodbye. My words are failing me. My ever eager spine, is weary without inspiration. I wonder what it is you read, when you look into my eyes. Or if there is anything left for you to read, at all.
Our story keeps writing itself. And I find, that I am unable to stop the plot from unwinding. Two star crossed lovers. How cohesively our thoughts were strewn together; entangled in the genesis of my favorite novel. Until writer’s block came knocking!
However, is this really writer’s block? Or has our story just changed mid-way?
Two endings diverged. And I, I find myself wanting. The urge to write, overwhelms me. Yet, when I put pen to paper; I find the sword is far mightier. The sheet mirrors my blank expression. And, I cannot muster the strength to fight back. So, I leave the words unwritt….