There is an elephant in this room.
Somewhere between here and there, i lost my mojo. My thing. If you can’t write about anything what is there left to write about. If everything you say has the potential to hurt feelings, or talk about that thing that can’t be said, if everything is unspeakable – what do you become.
Perhaps that is the very best part of running. Mile after lonely mile the solitude takes hold. There is just me and my heartbeat and nothing to say.
I have lost my desire for most things. Is this the beginning of menopause, is this what it looks like. Hormones remove any desire to fight, to be passionate, to say what you really want to say.
Often times i sit in the middle of a conversation. Silently. The words in my head are passionate and elegant, full of love and desire. Stuck inside there. No reasonable escape, because when they do they come out all wrong. You’re wrong.
Often times i spend entire days living in there. I speak to nothing. I go unnoticed. Tears roll down my face at seemingly nothing. My body gives away buckets of blood and sweat, leaving me speechless. Again.
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