I am listening to the wind through the open window, my mind tangled in a web, heavy, broken, weak as if one who’s been defeated in battle.
There are invisible barriers in a writer’s head. These barriers are not physical, pragmatic, tangible obstacles that stand in one’s way. These are not barriers that you can push aside, or work through, or ignore. Invisible barriers are the small details, the makeup of your day: a pen that refuses to work, a set of keys that go missing, a mishap or wrongdoing that distracts the train of thought. I would love to say that I don’t expect perfection, that I am not a perfectionist, that if an external factor dysfunctions, I am not affected whatsoever. But as a writer, I am sitting in a room of physical dilemmas, mistakes and errors. I see them. I write them. I think through them. I try to correct them with my pen, in my head. I try to make sense of the imperfect, which leads to an urge to better, if not perfect my inner flaws.
If I am exhausted physically and mentally, I become so immersed with these invisible barriers that I lose myself, my confidence, and sometimes, even my pen. I forget the powers I have as a writer. And when you have no power, you are lost. When you are lost, you are forgotten, distant from the very soul you learned to love and appreciate.
I listen, to the wind, to the night. To find what, I do not know. I feel shallow, empty beneath the surface. My words have no strength tonight. My words are empty. I don’t feel it. I feel nothing.
I should say nothing then.
There…I’m nothing.
I want the night to take me away. I want the night to burry me in the middle of the sky, behind the moon, around the stars. I want to be rid of my mind. I want to sleep. In my sleep, I want to be a fairy, an angel, a ghost. I am tired of being, of always writing in my head, of looking into things that need not be looked at.
Let me be lost. God, let me go tonight. Let me go.