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This Is What Happens When You Quit Writing For More Than 365 Days (and Decide to Return Anyway)
When your brain cells start bumping into each other, as if they were naughty children at a party
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“You, you’re going to completely brush off your own talent for a whole year? That’s okay with you, okay with pushing aside your skill?”
That was my ego. Loud. Sarcastic. Unashamedly brutal at 2:03 am.
I gazed back at her—yes, she does exist in my mind, with judgmental eyebrows — and heaved a sigh.
“It’s been over 365 days,” I had to say to nobody within hearing distance. “But feels like decades.”
More than a year went by, and in all that time, I didn’t write. It is not even a birthday poem, a sappy quote, or one of those cryptic entries that writers pretend don’t concern actual people (but actually do).
I stopped doing the one thing that made me feel like me.
My refuge. My platform. My scream-into-the-pillow moment in poetic symbolisms with a dash of caffeinated ramblings. That’s the only time I didn’t have…
