“Just start writing, they will come,” she said.
I’m in this cave of unknown, a sliding darkness. It rolls around like thunder. Each sound, each time the Earth and electricity come together, I wait. I wait for the answer, the lightbulb, the key. Because isn’t that whats coming? Isn’t it? Like two people colliding together, the electricity between them is fierce and unstoppable. We hold on to the spark of light long after its gone out, tempting it to light the sky eternally.
Don’t you know those moments of spark are few and fleeting? Don’t you know catching one would be like an Oscar on the mantle? We reach for these moments with every last bit of exertion we have and we imagine if we could just touch it, just hold it in our hands forever, the spark would never go out and it would always be there to light up the sky.
But it doesn’t work that way baby cakes.
I’m sorry but it doesn’t. Sometimes those bolts just crash and burn on the ground. They loose the energy they once provided. The emotion of light they placed in our eyes. And those bolts become pebbles, pebbles covering the sanctuary of our broken heart. The pebbles wear it down. They make it week, until bits of broken are all that’s left.