I’m trying out this new thing where I ask myself everyday, “Have you written today?” I’m making the effort to blog more and to escape if even for a short while from other kinds of writing that I don’t enjoy so much, the kinds that must be “logical” and “have a point”. I can’t say it’s going too well since I haven’t liked anything I’ve written so far, but I think if I keep doing this long enough, something amazing will eventually come along! This is my attempt at writing through the block…
There’s a story stuck just in the back of my throat. It’s irritating, scratching at tissues but refusing to let me cough it up.
It’s hovering just behind my eyes, in that blind spot where sleep eludes capture during restless nights.
It’s playing on my temples, tap dancing, whirling around in place, mocking me.
It’s tickling me somewhere between my shoulder blades and tracing lines on the small of my back.
It’s floating above my head, all weightless and carefree. But my arms have been locked to my sides, incapable of reaching upwards and beyond to grasp it.
It’s whispering in my left ear, taunting me. I can’t swat it away, but its teasing hum never subsides, it’s a refrain even for my moments of solitude.
There’s a story sitting on the tip of my tongue, resting gently on my fingertips, waiting at that point where the ink begins to flow, standing at the crossroads between fruitfulness and drought. Flow.