Writing and I are going through a rough patch.
Creativity has left me and it’s causing a rift between the two of us.
Writing is reaching out for me but try as I might, I just can’t reach back.
Like many relationships, the spark has faded and we need to find a way to rekindle our flame.
Writing has been the bane of my existence and my saving grace for many years, and now I just look at her like an old friend, and think “Remember what we used to do together?!”
The pen yearns to be touched. The paper just wants to feel needed.
Writing keeps trying to get me to sit down and chat, but I keep telling her that I’m inadequate.
We both know there are things left unsaid, things that I’m aching to share. Writing keeps whispering, “I’ll listen.”
“Be vulnerable,” She says. “Allow yourself to feel.”
“I’m tired. I’m too busy.” I find every excuse in the book.
And then at night the rift gets bigger. “You’ll never make it.” Yells doubt. “You’re kidding yourself.” Screams fear. “Don’t give up on me.” Writing whispers.
Writing asks me “Where have you been?” “I’ve been spending more nights with insecurities.” I must sheepishly admit. I know I’m disappointing us both, but I just walk away and hope we will find our way back to each other soon.
Because that’s the thing about writing, she’s something you feel in your being. She’s the air that breathes life into your soul, she warms your heart when life makes you cold, and she refuses to let you walk away without a fight. She demands that you feel. And she ensures that she will be a part of your life at all times.
Life gets hard, inevitably. But writing is there to say, “I’m still here. I’ll be here when you need me, and I promise I won’t judge you.”
Writing says, “You are not alone. Let’s help remind others of that.”
So remember, I’m still here. I’ll be here when you need me, and I promise I won’t judge you.
You are not alone.