During my first Slice of Life challenge, not at all considering myself a writer of any sort, I wrote about the thief that creeps into my life and steals happiness from time to time. It was healing for me, even if it was a tad awkward for the reader. It freed me to write happy. Two years later, this challenge arrived right alongside the thief once again.
I’ve sat down to try to get to that feeling that writing has given me since I fancied myself as someone who writes. Writing provides a solace, it is a salve for the spirit. But it’s been a cumbersome process. It seems that this latest breach to our circle has achieved in not only threatening one piece of my heart, but two. Writing is cumbersome? How could that be?!
Maybe it’s coming off three losses in quick succession. When is enough, enough?
Maybe it’s the person the thief has called upon this round. She’s a big part of my heart, man.
Maybe it’s seeing another huge piece of my heart hurt so badly. How strong can you expect her to be?
Maybe it’s the foreboding fear that the thief may turn itself to our own abode. Are we strong enough?
Maybe it’s that the tallies are adding up in the absent column of our lives. Do we treasure the present as we should?
When faced with the screen before me each day I sit to write, these questions join the back and forth in the swirling vortex of ideas that is my writing brain. Each idea battling to make it to the keys.
Today the thief has won that battle in my mind.
Maybe it will free my ideas tomorrow.