What is the meaning of that word?
What is it, to write?
How could you forget that love?
How did you used to put one letter in front of another to make up words that constructed sentences that which those who see joy in reading considered worthy of reading?
What happened to you love?
Who stole your words?
What happened to you that a pen became so heavy for your hand to hold?
Talk to me. You can always talk to me. I’ve never told anyone a secret that you did not want me to share; yet you don’t seem to trust me the way you used to.
Something Love, something has come between us but I don’t know how to fix it.
How do I fix what is broken without knowing what it is that is broken?
Was it me Love? Am I the reason that you can’t write anymore?
Did I somehow make you feel as though your words were not enough?
I admit there have been times when I’ve doubted you Love but I didn’t think it would affect you this way. I didn’t think I could ever have the power to discourage someone. To take away what they hold dear. I was careless Love, I’m sorry for that.
You’ve changed, Love. You’ve lost the lightness about you that attracted butterflies and moths alike, to you. But I suppose that’s natural when you lose a lot that makes you laugh.
You’ve changed, Love.
Lately you walk around heavy love.
Heavy with loss,
Heavy with grief,
Heavy with worry,
Heavy with being complacent,
Heavy with the excuse of being lost,
Heavy with pain,
Heavy with disappointment,
Heavy with experience,
Heavy with love,
Heavy with life.
But Love, people change. Change is inevitable but change doesn’t always mean bad.
Love, you’re growing up. Life has happened to you Love, when you least expected it. I know. I’ve been experiencing it with you but that doesn’t mean you have to give up on that which you love, Love.
You’ve been experiencing life differently from how you imagined but that doesn’t make it, life, or you, love, any less.
A lot has happened love but worse has happened to other people and yet their voices are still clear. I know. You hate when people compare someone else’s experiences to belittle yours. We feel differently after all. My point is, you can do it too.
I see you looking for words in wine bottles, hoping that with every sip you take a letter from the alphabet will translate from that bitter taste that graces your tongue. But nothing comes to your mind but memories of ‘way back when and what ifs.’
Yet you’re so stubborn in your thinking, believing that eventually you’ll find words at the bottom of the wine bottle but all you find is that you’ve run out of wine.
Writing, Love. You do it with your hands. With your words love.
The words you keep searching for are words that you already know love.
The person who took those words from you love is very familiar to the both of us. After all she is both of us. We are her, love.
Take your hands off your mouth and speak.
Pick up a pen and put one letter in front of the other and sew words together the way your father taught you after school when he gave you homework on top of homework.
I guess you didn’t know Love, that some people can still hear you even when your voice isn’t clear.
I guess you didn’t know Love, that a heavy pen can write just as well as a light heart.
I guess you didn’t know Love, sometimes heavy leaves a stronger impression.
Do you remember now, Love?