Sometimes the words leave me. They disappear completely. My fingers get twitchy, desperate to take the thoughts from my brain and mold them in to symbols that can be interpreted by others. I am as a whole eager to create. The words, however, elude me. Just out of reach I can see the blur as if looking in a mirror fogged by the steam of a too hot shower. They want to break free of the confines of my mind but there is a visible invisible barrier. I can barely see them yet they cannot reveal their complexities to me.
We are both lost. The words lost to me float aimlessly in my brain. They try to find their companions – those that create sentences when combines thus allowing them to burst forth onto the page and into the minds of others. I wander aimlessly trying to figure out where my beloved words ran off to and why. Without them I lose myself. The words define me – literally and figuratively. Who am I when they are gone? There is not quite a word for it.
At night I lose sleep. My mind is blank. Where did the stories go? What about the characters I’ve come to know? Do I even have memories without the ability to speak them, write them? Who am I and who will I become without them? I sleep and dream silent dreams.
The words always return. Without pomp or fanfare they sneak in silently while I sleep. First they invade my dreams, then they interrupt classes, and before long my fingers and hands are sore from the creativity that has returned. I am now unable to sleep because my brain cannot process all the words.
I rejoice at their return. I do not think about the next time they will sneak off and leave me behind. It is inevitable. In that moment of unison, I will not think about the next time or the fear of what I might become should the words, my world, never return at all.