The struggle continues. Sitting in front of the laptop with my fingers glued to the dazzling keyboards but no, nothing to fill out the empty page I am staring at. The emptiness is overpowering the soul, once again. And this time, it’s something different than I have encountered before. It’s a cry for inner peace that delivers the words, visualises what my mind ideates, and unleashes the emotions within.
Perhaps it’s because I have squeezed it all out— or could it be I was never a writer? So hard to define as words are yet to come into formation that might speak to me very specifically if that day has come— the day when I am declared as no longer a man of letters.
What if words don’t come to me again? What if I am left blank for eternity?
*That cannot be right. *
But I have to accept the truth. Being true to myself would be suffice to find solace in this darkest time. Surrendering before my hollowness will be the only star twinkling in the aluminium-coated unending sky I wander.
Will then the lost words come back to me? Will the void still pursue me like now?
Photo by Pedro Araújo on Unsplash
There are still thoughts I want to share. There are stories I want to tell— stories from my book of life as I unfold newer pages every day. Emotions my heart bleeds every now and then— overly inflated with incarnated blessings, they want to explode. But my incompetence still persists; cancelling my thoughts and emotions— stories retreat to their cave in despair.
They all are telling me to surrender, for that filling the empty space has taken its toil on me. It’s too much of a journey I have journeyed.
But the northern wind is revitalising my heart. Still, getting on foot is mostly unlikely— at least when I have never longed for words. Words that carried emotions, expressed feelings, and soothed minds. Words that I had befriended with; a repository of accumulated sensation. Where are they now— it’s time to find out.
