“It seemed to travel with her, to sweep her aloft in the power of song, so that she was moving in glory among the stars, and for a moment she, too, felt that the words Darkness and Light had no meaning, and only this melody was real.”
- MADELEINE L'ENGLE -
Days like today are the most difficult--when I want more than anything to breathe my own poetry to the page or get caught up in someone else’s words and the world they’ve crafted in a book.
But I can’t. Not today. Because my thoughts scatter like ashes--disintegrating at the slightest touch if I’m lucky enough to catch a stray piece in my hand.
I can’t read more than a few paragraphs at a time. I can’t write more than a few words without pausing and fighting to remember what I wanted to say. And that breaks me more than anything. Because that’s who I am--writing is the only way I know how to exist. That’s what this disease is taking from me this second time around, when the fatigue in my mind is a thousand times worse than the fatigue in my body.
I feel like I’m constantly swimming underwater, fighting to reach the surface where words are clear and emotion is concise and I can breathe without feeling like I’ll drown in everything that remains unspoken.
On days like today, I can’t read. I can’t write. But I can dream. And I’ll keep dreaming until every breath is exhaled, until every heart last beats, until every star in the sky goes out.
This disease won’t take my dreams.