Writing isn’t as easy as it once was before. Mostly because I avoid the solitude and stillness needed for ideas and imagination to flourish. I keep myself busy during the day with chores and organizing tasks, simple menial things. Movement and motion requires less thought and emotion, and while there are moments when I’m frozen in memories, the laws of motion keep me going passed the pain.
It’s the creeping night that slows me down. Dreading the close of day. It’s here in the darkness, in the stillness and silence that I lose myself in thoughts – too many thoughts and sadness to organize and communicate. A seemingly endless swirling of thoughts and emotion – except rage. There is no point in raging about her dying as the close of day has come and gone.
So, I let the thoughts come and go, back into the dark silence, into the good night.
I don’t feel like writing, but I had resolved to embrace this sadness, to keep on this path toward some meaning.