I noticed you had stopped writing.
Yep.
Taking a break?
Kind of. I don't know. Maybe?
Let me guess. You're feeling happy these days, aren't you?
What makes you think of that?
Why? Am I wrong? You told me you only write when you're sad or in pain. You said happiness is ineffable. I haven't read from you for a while now which made me conclude that you're busy smiling and laughing instead of holding a pen and paper.
I thought I already knew myself very well.
What do you mean?
I've always believed that when you're sad, you keep on writing. You don't run out of memories to reminisce, of regrets to tell, of wishes to whisper, of words to validate the sadness you feel. They keep on coming like waves that will try to drown you and the only way to survive is to swim with it and stop fighting back.
And?
I've come to realize that at some point, the only choice left is to shut up.
I still don't get it. Have you ran out of words?
I wish I had, my friend. I wish I had ran out of pain.
Then why would you stop if you are still full of everything that pushes you to write? I know you, Perenelle. You don't just shut up like that.
I decided to stop because I was just running in circles. I barely moved at all. I'm stuck in this same old feeling. There is nothing new to say and writing won't make any difference anymore. If I try, I would still end up telling the same misery over and over again.
So what? Who cares if you talk about one thing a hundred times?
No one likes broken records, my friend.
--------