Prose: Writer’s Block

She woke up one morning and found that she had lost the ability to write.

You may not see this as important. It may even be trivial to you. You may dismiss this casually with a wave of your hand, but there are things you do not see.

If only you could see how words had formed and shaped the vast majority of her reality, then you would understand how losing the ability to write has crippled her. Very much so to a point where the ink that used to linger upon her skin is now trickling down her spine, staining the clothes on her back – a stark reminder of how she can no longer form the beautiful sentences she once used to engrave on the walls.

Since she lost the ability to write, she stumbles along the cobblestone streets of this old, grey city looking for something great, bold and beautiful to spark inside of her. It is freezing yet she does not shiver in the 2 degree weather; her blood is still hot from a bottle of cheap, home brand vodka that she downed with sweet mixers of soda and juice, because she can’t stand the bitterness that drowns her tongue.

She kisses strangers with the hope that they could take away the bitterness that lingers on her lips in exchange for words, but to no avail. It did nothing but leave her a blank parchment of skin with ugly blots of ink that served only one purpose. A faint reminder of the golden days long past, when elegant scripts of poetry, prose and lyrics used to line her limbs and bones.

It confuses her. Looking at herself in the mirror and seeing only splotches of black on white. She thinks she’s tainted. All she wants are her words. All she wants is to feel them pulsing in her heart and coursing through her veins.

She used to spill her heart into three hundred and sixty five chapters. But now all she feels is an emptiness. Pages are no longer filled. There’s nothing left inside of her but an aching longing and a hollow soul. There’s no connection left between her mind and her body. She is now a shell of a being that wanders day to day in a daze, searching endlessly for what she once held so dear.

I hope she finds her words again.


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