Broken Record

I’ve been writing the same words in different orders repeatedly for the past few years. I’ve looked in thesauruses and tried finding new perspectives, but the topics aren’t changing. I’m all out of romantic longing and my observations mostly embarrass. The desire to shield myself behind fiction has never been more alluring, but the words come so slowly. Masking what I need to say within a story only adds another dimension to a task I fear I am incapable of handling.

I want to write purely from a place of love without it all coming back to two bodies curled together under sheets. I want to give back, to follow in the foot steps of the creatives who raised me. I want to make someone feel the way I felt listening to Alkaline Trio as a teenager.

The world can be so cruel and I’ve let it make me feel the need to match its energy. I don’t know if I’ve grown to be the way I out of a guardedness or an issue with my brain chemistry. What I know is it’s a challenge to be warm, but it’s a challenge I want to face unlike so many others. To be able to do both is the dream. But for now I just want to create something that means something to somebody and I know I’m not getting there writing what flows naturally from me.

So every time I sit down to write something new, I see the same words laid out before me. The same sentiments and the same missing piece. Writing is easy; writing something I care about is not.