Dear Blank Page
Hi Stranger. It’s me.
It’s been a lifetime.
Well, it feels that way, anyway. And yes, I know, my disappearing acts are getting old now.
I am sorry.
Sitting here drowning myself in the melancholic broodiness of John Mayer’s ‘Gravity’ I can feel it trying to bring me down. I won’t let it though. Not this time. I have to make a way for my hope. But first I need that blues guitar to lift me into the zone … to help me get back right with you.
I don’t know where to start. I am stranded between the silence of my boisterous thoughts and the mobility of my steady hands. It is to parallel purpose.
I can’t recall why or how we drifted apart. Just that we did. I vaguely remember a time we hung out just about every other day. Do you?
So what happened? I am still trying to figure that out. All I know is that I want to fix things between us. I have to. I need to. And even though it’s taken me longer than I would have liked to get to a place where I can even begin to work on that process I find quite comfort in taking that first step.
A lot has happened since our last dalliance. In your absence desperation and frustration have become my (unwanted) companions. Without you I have slowly but surely drifted to the edge of sanity. I lost my way without you.
So many mornings I have woken up and told myself today is the day. Today is the day I will moonwalk with my muse again. Procrastination however, was having none of it. It kept whispering sweet nothings to me. Every. Single. Day.
If it wasn’t her it was doubt that kept me away from you.
Along the way I have found myself questioning whether what we had was real. And then in the next moment I would turn around and ask myself why the hell I wasn’t making you a priority when you have done more than anyone or anything to pull me even closer to myself.
I had to remind myself that the more time I spent within your margins the more acutely aware I became of my true self. You always encouraged Tafadzwa to show up. Keep it real, you would whisper, ever so softly. But still, I didn’t write.
You allowed me to honour myself, as well as my experiences. At the same time you also allowed me to honour the world and my place in it. I am who I am right now because I wrote. I am here feeling lost in the world because somewhere along the line I stopped writing. And hard as I try I can’t seem to remember where we left off, or why? So I will just type and just trust the process. That with each word I will find myself within your margins once again. That with each word I will write myself back to clarity.
Only you can pull me back from the edge of sanity.
Your Long Lost Friend .