Dear Writing: A Love Letter

I think writing broke my heart. 

How do you process this grief ? How do you look a concept in the face and tell it how much you hurt for it? How much have you longed for it though you have run the other way at every opportunity for reconciliation? 

How do we find and discover  this grief when we can find a million other useful things to do besides?

When I was younger I was a writer and I would write letters so I am writing this one to the writing inside of me: 


Dear Writing; 

I made you worth too much. Like that boy who shall remain nameless that I have loved over a million lifetimes and a million faces, you’re both too destined and too much so watch me run! 

Watch me empty out my emotions into different chambers within and never fully let anyone in. Watch me hide and disguise and write only snippets of the true expression I carry inside. 

How can I keep proportion? My north node’s got a mission and it’s the ink to page connection, no pressure. No wonder, I leave every encounter early. I avoid you at all costs, I let you,neglected, live alone in some part of me that is locked, barricaded with a lost key and a guard with sharp teeth. 

This is not simply writer’s block, this is the writer swallowed her own reflection and dove into the ocean to drown before she would release another word from the prison she held her gift in atop a mountain. 

This is a fear of myself that is so immense it could rival the milky way with its vibrant avoidance. 

Why you, writing? Why when I am hurt do I forget to let you exist? Why do I hide you in my pocket and let you peak out for moments and then stuff you back in (at most and on a good day you are that close to the surface) 

Why do I not see you when you are in a room? Why do I not permit myself access to you unless it is for someone else and they need you?

Love is surrender and for you and to you I must surrender. I must step into your flow and grace and let you move through me and let your dance race the runs of the page. I have to remember the love I feel for you and let myself be vulnerable to it again. Whatever hurts we have faced the unconditional nature of our agreement shall not change. I am your vessel and you are my craft. 

With all of the fear in my heart I ask, shall we dance? 



Where do we go from here and is it enough? When we acknowledge our grief is that only the first step, or are steps an illusion, can we experience them all at once?

A complicated relationship exist between artists and their creativity. May we lift the weight by getting out of our own way.

May we see that our job is to practice and hone our skills and the creative spark and inspiration is beyond us, is an expression that is not us but working through us. May we allow this idea to keep us free from imprisoning what means most, whether it is a concept, a person or a things, may we let them be free!

How do you free your inner voice? Share with me!


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