I Haven’t Written

I have not written since we decided to take a break. Somehow when my heart stopped beating, my hand stopped writing and there was no more room for storytelling.

Our narrative ended, and the love that repleted my life with color and water painted canvases was gone and lead only to dirt stained, stucco, cream walls.

I found myself in the dystopian novel that Orwell wrote as a prediction of modern day society. Everything was a mix of black, white, and grey. I was a part of assembly lines and routine day in and day out, with little purpose and eyes so drained that they maintained only dark bags–with non-existent tears.

Then you came back, or rather I let you back in. Little by little hues of blues and greens kept me from going color blind. The world was democracy. I found the words to say the emotions I was feeling again.

Dystopia turned into romantic comedy and my heart started beating.

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