"That's the problem, Erin! I can't publish if I can't write anything!"
It bursts from her, words nearly thrown up from where they've been lodged behind her breastbone, and she feels something almost physical - a cord she's been gripping onto for so long, and now her hands are empty. Arms no longer burning with the effort of staying upright.
"I haven't been able to write anything of my own making. For months."
So much softer in being said, the crumpling of a leaf come to rest in the grass. Fallen now, the space where the truth was a hollow, and she sets the tea aside so she can draw her knees under her chin, to protect that space inside her.
no subject
It bursts from her, words nearly thrown up from where they've been lodged behind her breastbone, and she feels something almost physical - a cord she's been gripping onto for so long, and now her hands are empty. Arms no longer burning with the effort of staying upright.
"I haven't been able to write anything of my own making. For months."
So much softer in being said, the crumpling of a leaf come to rest in the grass. Fallen now, the space where the truth was a hollow, and she sets the tea aside so she can draw her knees under her chin, to protect that space inside her.