Can someone come back from a long string of silence? Is there a quick way to explain how so many things have come about in so little time? Should I even attempt to compose a formal manner to excuse myself from my writing duties as a self-acclaimed love-writer (meaning I love to write)? I’ll take a giant leaping guess here and say the answer to all of these questions is: not likely.
- “Your love for writing shouldn’t be hindered by anything”, my heart speaks out.
- “Well, she’s had a lot on her mind”, my mind replies defensively.
- “What kind of cheap excuse is that? Everyday there’s something on her mind. Does that mean she can’t write and think at the same time?” my heart demands.
- “No. I’m simply saying that the poor woman has gone through some life-altering steps and that’s not something you can set aside, that you can just pretend to ignore for the sake of dabbling in the written word.”
- “Is the poor woman dying?” my heart asks skeptically, knowing the answer to the question.
- With a frown, my mind responds, “No.”
- “Then what should possibly keep this woman from doing something she loves; something she once swore was her calling; something she claimed she couldn’t live without, something she assures anyone, she will continue doing even if her passion goes unrecognized… unless of course, her hands and fingers have been torn off by a bloodthirsty mobster with a hunger for amateur writers,” my heart remarks, unaffectedly.
- “You’re a lot less pleasant than your name implies… I mean, isn’t the heart supposed to be kinder, sympathetic, polite?” my mind observes in horrified surprise.
- “Just because I’m the heart, doesn’t mean I’m blind to the truth. Me being the heart means, I know what she really wants and what she’s afraid of. And you, the mind, are the one that keeps her from doing what she aspires most to accomplish. You distract her to no end, you always have. You make her doubt, you make her think everything can wait, you make her give up the now for later.”
- “Oh, so now it’s my fault? Isn’t that just like a heart, to deny when you’ve failed her. If she’s so passionate about writing, then nothing would keep her from it, right? You, the heart, would lead the way, right? Then where have you been? Why have you left her, without a light, without a leader, without direction? I may have kept her head full of distracting events and diverting uncertainties and confusing perspectives, but YOU, her heart, should have been able to override all of it. Am I right?” my mind questions baldly, confident it turned the tables nicely.
- After a moment of silence, my heart admits sadly, “I think… we’ve both failed her. When she needed us most, you blinded her with conflicting thoughts, and I bombarded her with conflicting emotions.”
- My mind, surprised again at the turn of the conversation, takes a second to consider such words. Then, with a wicked gleam, says, “I think… we may get away with blaming her soul. It doesn’t really do much, just lies there all day. Why not let someone else take the hit for this one? We are supposed to be a team.”
- My heart speaks disapprovingly, “That’s a horrible idea. No, I believe she’s reached that point where she feels like she has no where to turn. And we’ve allowed her to get to that despairing state. It’s time. It’s now. We give her back her ambition and her love, without pretense, without delay, without excuses.”
- Sighing heavily, my mind nods. “Alright. What happens if we’re not enough? What if she doesn’t get to the horizon or soars higher than the clouds or goes to infinity and beyond? What then?”
- “We try harder. We give her the drive, the hunger, the fight, the blood to go after what she’s always believed in. And we never stop,” my heart promises fiercely.
- With a reluctant smile, my mind teases, “You know, you’re starting to sound a lot more like yourself. It suits you.”