June 2019
Hey love,
The idea of you is bittersweet. True, I can’t wait to be you and I am constantly compelled by and driven for your existence. Your arrival ─occasionally I wish I could postpone it─ only compounds the fleetingness of our time. Which, if the last decade is anything to go by, is that proverbial sand quickly passing through our fingers. Tainting us with an ineluctable familiarity with the frailty of our mortality, past the basics of bodily functions ─brain activity and lungs taking air in and out. A fading of our existence that tags along with adult-ness even as we continue to draw breath. So, propelled by a quote I read recently on how we become ghost-like when we stop doing the things that make us alive, I got us looking into how to stay this fading away of our existence. Surprisingly the search led us back to writing.
You do recall the origins of our writing journey were in my desperate attempt at self-exorcism. A futile attempt to free us of the darkness of our emotions; the fears, self-doubt, low self-esteem, and that incessant affinity with death. Thinking back, it’s ridiculous how many relationships were wasted or wounded as spoken words were misunderstood on the occasions we tried to speak of or from this darkness. Thankfully, while our spoken words tended to stumble over each other ─communicating an incoherence in who we were─ our written words never failed. They kept our heart safe and gave clarity to our desires. Through writing, we were always able to trace the path of our muddled emotions and to avoid the landmines set to verbal communication. Till we finally found our voice in our relationships.
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