Reaching for the Words

Through the fog they come drifting in and out. I strain, stretching my fingertips towards them, aching to capture the will-o’-the-wisps before they slip into the night. But they dance just out of reach, leading me over the tangled roots and mossy undergrowth of my mind. I follow, brushing away the branches of distraction, determined to capture them. I’m so close. They pause in a misty clearing, as if waiting for me, finally ready to accept my claim upon them. At last! The words flow and sentences form. I push up my sleeves and rest my fingertips on the old metal keys, preparing to type the words I’ve struggled to find. But alas. There is no paper.

The idea for this started flowing when I saw this picture Kyzmit (I like to call her Kyzzie) posted yesterday. Anyone who enjoys getting ideas from good photography should pop by her blog often. 

Nothing to Write

I have nothing to write about. Or so I thought.

Then I remembered how I felt on Wednesday when Mr. Intrigue shared his excitement about an upcoming date—his first real date since we started talking several months ago. He and I have not met in person, yet I’ve come to depend on him for emotional support in so many ways. Never once has he let me down as a friend and confidant. Due to distance and some other factors, I doubt I will ever know the joy of being in the same space, breathing the same air and touching the face of this man. But that does little to negate my feelings. I care for him deeply. Which is why, upon hearing about his date—with a sexy little twenty-five year old nurse no less—I felt ugly, green envy rise from my chest. Mr. Intrigue should date. He deserves a relationship with a wonderful local woman. I know all this. But inside I was stomping my well heeled foot and throwing china against a brick wall, a picture of bratty, juvenile defiance. Because I wanted to sit beside him, listening to the band play while sipping margaritas. I wanted to tentatively reach out and hold his hand. I wanted to be the one he kissed goodnight. Continue reading