My creative energy is being sapped into the page, into a blog, into a journal. For almost a week, now, empty things take my Soul rather than flesh, an ear, a ... Heart. My ... heart.
I feel the threads withering like the final embers of a fire
and it scares me--
what if they never return?
What if it--the Joy of Words, of writing, of responding and being responded to--never returns but is lost, or postponed, with the Silence of being
Alone?
The Blank page stares,
unfriendly
like the ghost of an enemy;
like the indifference of a friend.
2 comments:
These are the times when we look to mathematics for comfort. Because life is often like one big sine wave.
i started writing again partly because of your work. it's really striking, kell. miss you!
-paige
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