I Forgot to Write

Or maybe I forgot how to write.

Photo by Karina Zhukovskaya from Pexels

Three long months have whisked on by since my last battle with the page. I genuinely have no idea where the time went, but I admit to having thought little about my writing during those long winter months.

The absence began with innocence; no harsh incentives were ever directly at play here. There were no reasons to omit from the incredible world of the written form.

An honest and short pause from writing for a day turned into a week’s respite, which quickly snowballed into two weeks, a month, two months, all the way into today.

Simply put, I forgot to write.

I have been away since the beginning of December, and as I sit here and type the rhythmic strokes on the keyboard, it quickly dawns on me: I miss it. I miss expelling my thoughts through creative discourse. I miss reaching within my mind to source new potential content and dialogue.

Writing, to me, is the ultimate dialogue. It is the quintessential form of communication and expression and allows ideas to incubate and mature.

But I have left it behind, even in private; I have given up daily journaling. I have felt no immediate pulse to pen ideas to the page; until now.