journals, stream of consciousness

pr\ early winter

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s an issue of scarcity. I have run into a shortage of words.

When the phone rings now, there’s nothing but a chirping repetition in my mind. A mimicry of the noise I should be making when I am, instead, entirely composed of silence.

My late husband would tell people that silence was my love language, and they always, always thought he was making a joke. If there’s one thing people know about me, it is that I thrive in the chatter. In a den of din, I am all petal and bloom, all unfurled leaf and sturdy stem.

But I am rooted in silences, nourished in them. Right now, I am cut down to the nub. I quarantine-cut my blossoming down to earth and now most of me is buried beyond the sight of the sun and horizon.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s that I can’t. It’s not that I don’t know what to say, it is that I am out of words.

All I have are thoughts that are meant for the maze of my own mind, and for that alone. Trying to collect a pinch of thoughts to share is like trying to grab a handful of the dust you can only see in the light.

I know this isn’t sustainable. Communities form around words, check-ins, love notes, and chitchat. A blossom has to whisper to a bee. A seed wants to meet the ground.

I want for this type of springtime but right now, the meadow has been cut down and the only way for me to accept this is to pretend we are in early winter. I am standing guard around my voice, letting it rest its ugly gnarled hooks deep into soil. It isn’t a threat, I want to tell people, but a root looks as much like a dragon as a petal looks like a princess, and everyone fancies themselves a hero. Everyone is on the lookout for monsters and dragons, something they can slay, something they can control. A silence is a many-headed thing, a beast even, if you are already on a hunt. Everyone is hunting. There’s a scarcity that calls for it.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s that I can’t. Right now, I am growing from memory alone, trying to make sure that the leaves don’t turn sour. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s that I can’t. Right now, I am growing. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s that I can’t right now.

241 thoughts on “pr\ early winter”

  1. Hi there, it’s ok to feel like this. You need to realize that though words carry matter, if they are wrongfully embedded it won’t, instead it will be destructive. Don’t keep being in that shell but use this moment to align your thoughts and values.

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  2. Pingback: early winter – Friendship

  9. I love this reading 🙂👍sometimes loneliness is better than surrounded by fake people all that matter is time and time waits for nothing. Time will pass even if it is good or bad all we need to do is to endure everything with patience and then there is a time full of hopes and happiness waits for you🙂

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  10. As much as communication is necessary, silence is powerful. Silence is reflective and intimate – it’s about you and you only. The way this post has been written is truly beautiful in both expression and understanding. Really really loved it ❤

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  15. I absolutely love this piece. It’s so relatable on various levels, as I’m sure it is to many, many people around the world. I’ve come to realise that those who write often find the most comfort in verbal silence, and it’s an irony I have come to love as much as the next miracle of life.

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  24. Pingback: early winter – erinstargazes's Blog
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  28. Hi!

    This might sound crazy but to wake up early in the winter mornings, you will have to take a cold shower. I know this sounds odd and very uncomfortable but believe me cold shower has many many benefits besides subduing sleep and feeling fresh and awake in an instant.

    But first thing is to get off your bed. Have an alarm set to your desired time. As soon as it rings, and you are awake, leave the bed immediately and make your bed. This will ensure that you don’t get back into your comfortable and cozy bed. Then just fresh up, have a cold shower and you are good to go.

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  31. It is really thought provoking and reminds me of years ago when my mother used to call…now I am not afraid and just pick up the phone, talk to her but am not afraid to talk back. I enjoy conversation with her and deep thought. She is a good woman. This is a good writing.

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  32. Pingback: Withered Rose – In the life of a rose

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