Witch of the words

She woke up one day and she knew by the look in the eyes of the sun shining behind a curtain of clouds after a rainstorm. It was true. She could feel it rising up in her gut. She tried to name it. She stopped. She didn’t have to say anything. She just had to make it stay. Permanently. She went to it – unthinking. Picked it up. Golden and shining. The cover had her name on it. A gift. It beckoned her to open it. She saw the lines. Blank and unassuming. So innocently organized but with no meaning. There was no life. Yet. 

Where was the pen? Or a pencil? The wand to churn thoughts into incantations.

As soon as she puts it down on paper and reads it out loud, first to herself and then to her audience, she knows what she has is power. She has magic. Her spellbook contains all the charms, the secrets and the in-betweens to prove she is entitled to her throne. She can wield words like no other. 

She has to look back. On all the days, she could have been cruel, hiding behind a joke, masked sarcasm. She had mostly done good rather than evil. Said the right words even to the wrong person. She thought it’s her calling to be there. Anywhere a friend needed. Kind to strangers. Paying it forward. To whom? For how long? She was running out of time, but not love.

One said you deserve to be loved. Someone mentioned all the love she could give. Have you thought about having children? As if the idea was brand new in her late thirties. She closed her eyes just to see the word selfish flash in her mind. Do you think you’re entitled to be titled a mom? I would love them unconditionally, she argued with the nagging voice inside her head.

The voice just shook her head. How would you know how to do something you have never even experienced? How can you tell, she pleaded. How do you think, it retorted.

There it was again. That word she loved the most. Dilemma and she dreaded it. It wasn’t the path less taken that intimidated her. It was the choosing. Words were the only things that came to her without question. Everything else was a choice she was afraid of making. A mistake. She would stand by it or fix it. She will go back and try to retrieve it. She would not regret anything as long as she was sure it was hers to begin with.

To be or not to be anything, a mom, a friend, a lover or an author, was another one of the questions. She didn’t ask it, so why should she have the answer? 

She closes her eyes. That’s the last thought she thinks before it all fades into another rainy day behind the windows of her apartment.

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