you miss it. the ritual of confession. the relief that washes over you after. the light weight of emptiness. a pen and paper in hand; your emotions, the only light you need to guide your way in this dark place called life. the communion of voices in your head. the multiverses waiting to be lived. there was a time when all it took was a thirst for a particular kind of ending, or the slightest curiosity of what life would look like if you were not you. but these days, you are beyond thirsty; you throat is parched, your insides burn with questions, and your mind races ten steps a second like a curious cat hopelessly trying to save its ninth life… yet, nothing. not a leak of inspiration. not an ounce of magic in your pen. and you shatter. from the weight of this knowledge. that maybe this is the end. maybe, the stories inside you will perish. maybe, you will implode from its rot; and the world will never know the details of what ate you out…
but, one thing. hope. hope rises from the ashes that fear reduced you to. and you type a letter “y”, and follow it with another “o”… on and on, you form a word, then two. and immediately you know you are meant for this. because days end, and nights take over. but days begin again. and so shall you.
Hi guys! I have missed being here; writing to you, writing about myself, my life, relationships– existent and imagined. How are you? Good? I miss you. I haven’t been writing as much and I miss that too (hence, the epistle above).
I thought I would check in, and say hello. It would be super nice to read from you too! :)<3
Lots of Love,