A year ago I thought I'd lost my flair for writing. I would open the new post page and stare at it without anything coming to mind. I was convinced I didn't have the love for it anymore, the passion, the hunger to be a recognised writer.
I once thought it always had to be a choice between an other half and a passion; that you could never have both. I wrote a lot when he first left me--now I am writing just as much after he's gone again. Even planning to invest in a full Microsoft Word and already contacting publishing houses. I believe the heartbreak is what pushed me to it.
If you are like me, then you really can't have both. Your writing would only be fueled by loneliness, and you could leak your universe either to the person you love or the natural instincts you have with a pen and paper/fingers and keyboard. Hint: the person is the one who would throw your feelings into the trash or into your face.
Thinking of alternate universes made by differing decisions: if I'd chosen to have her, the wind would have left because he didn't want her, as he'd clearly said at the time. In this universe, I chose him, so of course I wouldn't have the one that would have been mine forever.
Another alternate universe possibility: I kept her, but not him, and am too busy taking care of a child that I put my dreams on hold. Pushing them back and back and back until I could no longer fulfil them or even try to, boundaries made by my daughter, or lack of youth, or just the simple fact that the love for writing has died.
I guess thinking about it I could never have all three. I've lost her forever and had him and writing left; now he's gone and all I have is my gift with words. And swear to god I will never lose this, I will never lose you and I will be working hard to achieve this.
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