I don’t write anymore.
Strange how in sadness and suffering, I find solace in putting the soul to paper; crafting sentences designed to mimic the way I feel … the sense of loneliness and desperation and wrenching pain.
It’s as if I need to hurt to write.
I put down the phone and smile, ruefully, that it’s been a long time since I’ve written.
If this is what I go to sleep to, that you are what I wake to … Though I miss penning those words, the stories of my life – like an old lover buried and only recalled in moments of retrospection – it is something else to be ridiculously overwhelmed by what I feel for you.
Maybe I need to learn to write happy things instead :)