I’m usually someone who is never at a loss for words. Whether it’s writing or speaking. Where five words will do, I am like “What the heck, I’m going to use twenty-five.” Not because I waffle or talk about irrelevant matters, I only reserve that treat for my husband, but because I like to go into all the intricate details. I like to set the scene, background and foreground for every story I tell, so that the listener/reader can be transported to that moment and take the walk with me. Even if it’s as simple as my trip to the park, on a cold but bright day, when the haze from the sun put an extra stride in my step, lifting my spirits from the drear of winter… You get my drift?
But lately I’ve been struggling to write. The phrases have not been coming to my mind, or if they are about to appear, my own criticism does not let me join them together to form sentences. My thoughts are distracted by real life, the realness that my writing usually lets me escape from. And I feel sad. I feel like a failure because I started something that I could not continue; my blog. I feel like I have let myself down, by not pursuing this dream that I was so in love with only a few months ago. But most of all, I feel lonely. My writing is usually my companion, my imaginary friend that can listen to all my problems, hopes and dreams. From whom I walk away comforted, like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Lately this friend has gone into hiding. Probably because I have not invested time into our friendship. If I’m honest with myself, I have been avoiding her for a variety of reasons, mostly linked to my own dissatisfaction with myself. But I do not want to lose her. That I know for sure.
So, for now, even if the words don’t flow I will enjoy the silence of her company. Rather than keep my laptop closed, I will have my writing page open, at least twice a week, and mull over my thoughts with my dear companion. After all, a good friendship is one where you can sit together in silence but still feel at peace. That can happen, but only if I allow it.
I’m pretty sure the words will eventually come to me. And if they don’t, maybe I will learn to say goodbye with closure.
Writing has always had an ebb and flow for me. I try to roll with it with the the hope that in the harder times I’ll eventually find my way back to it. The words will return for you.