When the Words Flee, I Think of You
There’s no going back.
I feel like I’m standing in the no-fire zone of a battlefield. On one end is the creative life I hope to lead for myself — and on the other end is you, standing there and reminding me of where I started.
Would I crave the words so much if you hadn’t goaded me on so much in the beginning? Would I still pursue this journey of a thousand stories if you hadn’t prodded me gently on a path I find myself walking all these years later?
I still remember how you listened to my stories as if I were a witch speaking spells around a bonfire. Your eyes would go wide at all the proper moments, and I would feel the puff of my ego take shape as if my story hadn’t been told hundreds of times before. But I allowed the air into my sails and guided the ship to embark on its voyage.
Somewhere along the way, I got lost in murky waters, and I still can’t find my way out.
Maybe it happened when you turned away, when the stories stopped having their allure, when you moved on to bigger and better things to keep your attention.
The rift grew, and I couldn’t find a way to build a bridge to cross the distance.
It’s always been like that — with everyone — but I didn’t expect it with you.
