Can’t talk about it.
Can’t even think about it.
Can’t figure out how to ask. You’ve tried. Kind of. Pushed aside by yourself until it’s too deep for only you to fix. You must find a way out now. On your own. With your own energy that wains. Waining drive. Motivation. Simple desire.
Just to find enough volume to say the words. Help.
What used to work? When you needed to communicate. What helped? You were never a good speaker. The worst. Fumbled over thoughts that came out faster than your tongue could form shapes of substandard sentences. Weak verbal bubbles. You found the written word then. A decade ago. That worked. It built you.
Strengthened your voice. Stories of fiction.
Written words explained all. Themes. Plots of the life you lived.
All stuck in fiction. In characters.
And now? You’ve given that up. Run from that.
Why? As now, you need to communicate. More than ever.
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