I Have No Words…..
As a writer I am expected to always have a witty story, a unique take on things, a novel and wise antidote to life. Well, guess what. I don’t. More days go by than not when I write nothing. But wish that I had. And then I stress. And I guilt myself over the empty abyss. But you see I am human.
I have a mother-in-law who even after 30 plus years has managed to silence my will to exist with her wicked innuendoes of how very much I have failed at life. Because I also gave one of my two kids advice that sounded brilliant the minute it left my lips but now hours later just sounds like idiotic psychobabble. Some days I really don’t know how I resist the urge to just jump from that very high bridge. Really.
But here’s the real deal. No matter how deep the crevice becomes of my non-writing and unexpressed ideas and epiphanies of life, I am still living my story. Still searching for the moral to my story, to borrow someone else’s line. I am writing it with every breath I take and with every unwritten word. I am writing it with every judgmental glance you toss my way. You see, that only drives me forward. Because regardless of the failures you see, I am still living my truth. My story. It runs deeper than your judgement. Deeper than your expectations. And farther than any road your mind can dream of taking. My story is just beginning to make sense. And it cannot be rushed.
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