Curse of a writer
Between the lines.
Blank space.
The in between.
That’s where I read.
That’s where I read best.
That’s where I hear best.
I listen to the things being said, and I hear how it’s changed.
The pauses between words, the long pause before a kiss.
Staggering breaths or short gasps.
There’s a difference.
Eyes darting around the room tell more truths than eye contact.
I can hear the truths in lies; The truth of disrespect.
From words to body language, it’s my job as a writer to read it dechiper it.
It’s my job to decipher silence.
Most people silence is quiet, but to writers; silence screams in symphonies.
Haunting harmonies.
We know how dangerous silence is.
Silence is where we find the words.
The words most people think they omit or hide.
But writers have a funny way of finding them.
When that silence echoes and reverberates my brain, that’s my gut screaming.
Reading the truth, filling between the lines.
The blank space.
The in between.
The curse of being a writer is I write beautiful things for people who don’t deserve it.
Or appreciate it.
I still thank them for the inspiration but,
I could have gone with out the pain.
