It’s not writer’s block. This is not a block, but more like a numbing – numbing of words that feel too dull to have any weight. They click with cliche and rub me all the wrong way because they’re not saying what I want them to say.
We battle – words and I – ours is a strange affair that’s so openly known that we say we’re in a very open sort of relationship. Some days they desert me, and nestle on the fingertips of another word-lover, and some days they wrap me with their comforting acknowledgement of knowing how to place themselves in prose that truly express me.
I’m expressively expressionless at the moment, with so much buzz and activity about me that words have decided it’s time for a vacation. No note was left, so I have no idea where to seek them from. It’s the least courteous they’ve ever been because they haven’t told me when I should expect them back.
I’ll just sit twiddling my thumbs, hoping they’ll soon return to entangle my fingers in fierce activity of composition. I’ll just wait.
© LaYinka Sanni, November 2012