She started too many sentences today that she forgot to finish. And now, her head is filled with the beginnings of too many stories, too many thoughts, but it feels surprisingly empty. 

In fact, for the first time in more days than she can remember, she is not overflowing; this is as close to empty as she ever gets. It’s a blessed feeling. 

And yet, there’s still too much here, and it’s all the wrong things for right now—a moment when those completely saturated emotions would at least be a clay for her hands to work with, something to mold into beauty. 

Now, she’s trying to force herself to feel something beyond this heart-racing, general emptiness that isn’t bad—just surprising and, if she really stops and thinks about it, a bit unsettling. 

There is comfort in her intensity—comfort in the sense that it is so very her, and she knows it well. 

But this: she’s felt it before, yet she’s never solved the riddle of making something out of nothing. And she couldn’t tell you where it all went, all the something that has not for a moment left her side these past few weeks. 

She begged and begged and begged to feel less, and now, she has nothing to say. She’s flopping back onto the bed every time her fingers become stagnant on the keys, forcing herself to feel every pinpoint of warmth as her blanket settles over her slightly-numb limbs, centering herself here to pick something out of the gray whirlwind of her thoughts. 

Yet, despite the frustration she feels as the minutes crawl closer to the time she’d rather be able to shut her laptop and call it a night, she’s not mad about this. She begged and begged and begged to feel less, and having nothing to say is a small price to pay for something that feels just a little bit like peace. 

She feels unbothered, unruffled, unphased. Thank you, she thinks—a prayer to whatever lies out there that actually listened, heard her very desperate cries. 

If she thought this would last, she might be scared, but she knows it won’t. She knows that far too soon, this peace will fade and be replaced with the very essence of who she is—that intensity that rarely leaves her side. 

But that’s the beauty of this—that right now she has little to say, is struggling to meet the word count, and that’s okay for right now. 

Tomorrow, she’ll likely have more to say, and rest assured she’ll say it, but for now, she’s content to stay quiet.