As authors, we turn our wounds to words. Instead of blood, we bleed letters and words of stories from our fingertips. We stain these pages with our words because sometimes, it's the only way we can catch our breath. Because sometimes the blood - the letters and words - fills our lungs until we can't breathe. So, we write. We tell the stories buried in the graveyards of our minds. We tell the stories that, without our blood, would stay dead.
My pen clatters onto the wooden surface of my desk, my hand aching from writing and scratching out word after word. My mind is so full, yet there seems to be a wall - a massive, unbreakable boundary - keeping my thoughts locked away.
I haven't written in months because every word I pull from within myself feels forced, like it doesn't want to come from my fingertips. The one thing I hold most dear now resents me for being unable to free the unspoken words.
I stare down at the paragraph, angry tears filling my eyes as my hands clench into fists within my strawberry blonde hair.
"What is wrong with me?" I whisper to myself, tears falling into droplets onto the notebook in front of me.
It's ironic; my tears are saying more than my words.
The tears say it all.
I, a writer, just can't seem to write anymore and without that, I don't know who I am.
Who are you? Who are you without this?
A knock on my apartment door startles me out of my misery, my crouched over form lurching back from the surprise sound.
I frown as I stand, knowing I'm not expecting any visitors at this time of night. My slippers pad against the wooden floor as I make my way through my living room to the door. Hopefully, my outfit of leggings and an oversized t-shirt isn't too casual for whoever decided to visit me, but it's their own fault for showing up unannounced. Peeking through the peephole does me no good; nothing but darkness greets my curious gaze.
I sigh, half hoping whoever it is will give up and go away, but when the knocking sounds again - this time more persistently - I unlock my door and open it.
YOU ARE READING
Black Swan | BTS ✓
Fanfiction"Seems like time has stopped. Oh that would be my first death I been always afraid of." A journey of self-discovery.
