What if tomorrow – all the words stopped?
What if I was reduced to typing the alphabet, over and over again?
What if the words’ departure wasn’t a sudden catastrophe? What if the words slowed to a trickle but didn’t quite stop, just turned muddy and stagnant like a runoff stream in high summer. It begins with this next sentence I can’t quite grasp.
Or what if it’s already begun, and no one has told me. “Are you going to?” “Should we?” “Naaaah… Maybe tomorrow. Maybe it will have completely stopped by then and we won’t have to.” “Oh I like that plan!”
Maybe the words just lose their savor over time. Maybe it just means less and less to finish a piece of writing. I’ll end up like a heroin addict chasing the dragon: never as good as that first time, that first shot of pleasure that sat up, licked its chops and growled,”Do it again.”
Maybe it will stop once every part of me worth saving is plastered to the page. They can keep the collection pinned to cotton under glass, a museum display or coffee table curiosity for hipsters.
Maybe I should get a grip, take a walk, put my inner drama queen back in a padded room, and get back to work.
After all, this was just a systems test. The words clearly haven’t stopped yet.