The Words Won't Come

The words won’t come. They hover just out of reach, like shadows that slip away the moment you try to grasp them.

I sit here, my fingers hovering over the keys- waiting for a spark, the idea, the moment when everything will click.

But nothing does.

The page stares back at me, empty and indifferent. It doesn’t care that I’m searching. It doesn’t care that I’m trying.

It only waits.

I think about every thought I’ve ever tried to capture, every sentence I’ve ever shaped, but today, the words feel hollow, an empty rattle inside my head.

What am I even looking for? I don’t know what I need.

A story? A sentence? A line to begin?

Nothing seems right. The words dance just out of reach, mocking me, offering themselves but pulling away before I can catch them.

What If I write nothing?

What If I never write again?

Have I forgotten how to do this? Will the words ever come back?

Maybe I should stop trying.

But I don’t.

Instead, I sit in the silence, in the frustration, in the weight of all the things I want to say but can’t. Maybe the words are still there, buried beneath doubt, waiting to push through.

Maybe they’re in the next line.

Maybe they’re in the next thought.

Maybe they’re in the next breath.

I don’t know yet.

But for now, I’ll stay.

I’ll wait.

The words will come.

Eventually.

Written 3-7-2025