Don’t Write Me Off just Yet.
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I don’t have the words and I’m sitting here breathing out succinct fuck-s every ten minutes because I cant find them.
I don’t know where they are. They live in my throat most of the time, and when I get a tickle, I know it’s time to burp them out. They flow through me so effortlessly and I’m able to release them and let my fingers flick freely atop the first keyboard I find. And it’s only when the words are out that I feel that I can exhale completely.
But I’ve been holding my breath for months now and the words aren’t in my throat.
I find them sometimes when I’m falling asleep, dancing around my skull in the early lull of sleep. They touch me with such unbearably light strokes. I write them on my eyelids and hope that they’ll still be there in the morning. But the sleep washes them away and I’m awoken with a blankness that numbs me.
Lately, it’s all been catching up to me. My body, my mind and my spirit are growing tired and bored of the quick fixes and I’m craving more.
I’m aching so deliciously that I can almost feel the words. But I can’t just yet.
I wait for things to pour out of me. I do not drain them or lure them out. I just wait and they come. I function only in extremes. And I’ve tried so hard to rid myself of this tendency but it’s me and it’s not going to go away. I’m either going to drink the entire bottle of wine or I’m not going to have any.
I’m either going to love you or not feel anything at all (don’t worry, chances are I’m going to love you). I do not half-ass my love or my work or my dreams or any other part of my life. I want it all to sparkle. I want you to transfix me completely or let me go.
I don’t find time for in-betweens and It’s complicated because to me, it’s all simple. I give myself wholly and I never, ever, ask for any of it back.
But lately everything seems dull and I’m bored.
So I keep doing things that hurt. I tell myself that I’m doing them because I’m not ready to feel good yet. But that’s not true. Somewhere along the way I picked up the silly notion that all this hurt would make me better. More resilient, less brittle.
But it’s breaking me down and my words are still nowhere to be found.
Just so you know where I am right now, I just let out a loud audible Ahhh because this is the most I’ve written in months and I can feel the adrenaline sinking into my fingers. I missed this so much I’m about to start sobbing on my keyboard because somehow I forgot that this, this hunched over my computer searching for my words and watching them dance on my screen, that this is me.
This is where I come alive. This is all I have to give. I’ve got clumsy limbs and shaky legs and wine-stained lips most of the times.
But I can be the lover that takes you in fully and fiercely with every kind of abandonment and I can make you forget that your feet are even on the ground because with me, you’ll hover above it all.
I’ll willingly pour myself onto you like silky whiskey in teacups, sauntering out of the cup and splashing heavily onto you, giving you slow, steady warmth. I will make a wholly delectable mess. But I can only do this when my chest isn’t burning with the boredom of the words not written down.
So please, don’t write me off just yet.
I’ll be back in full force once I’ve lodged every syllable out, off my skin and onto some paper. I’ll be brighter and I’ll be better. I might keep doing things that hurt for a while, but I’m almost ready to feel good again.
Please know that I am still capable. I have enough left in me to be a boomerang that slams into you sweetly and leaves you breathless in the best kind of way. Let me keep returning.
Let me cut right through you.
*****
{Ink It}
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