Yesterday, it was a relief to write: an escape, an opportunity to slip into an imagined past, a place where I was young and naive and invincible. The empty page is, for me, a recently discovered refuge. Yesterday, I needed one and it was there. For that, I am grateful.
Today, I am too exhausted to write. It is such an effort to put together words, to form sentences, to conceptualize phrases. Today, the words seem empty, hollow, meaningless. Today, I want to go to the pool and float on the surface of the water and let my mind be completely empty. I want to bake banana bread: mashing, sifting, stirring, as if it is my reason for being. I want to sip tea and watch the people at the co-op as they buy yogurt and eat kale salad, completely oblivious to cancer. Today, I want to rest.
Tomorrow or someday soon I will feel renewed. Then I will write.
No comments:
Post a Comment