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No Stories Left to Tell

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“This marks the 10th day I’ve sat in front of my laptop, watching the typing cursor blink over a blank document.





Nothing, absolutely nothing, comes to mind. Even when it’s really crowded in there.

So many emotions and desires. Pain and guilt. Fantasies and nightmares.

There are so many things I want to say to her. That she’ll find her happiness one day. It may not be the one she envisioned, but she’ll find her peace one day.

There are so many things I want to say to him. That I’m so proud of him and that I’ll still be waiting for him when he’s back. Forever and always.

There are so many characters I created. The villain. The heartbreaker. The partier. The unexpectedly good guy. The many fleeting and fun and torturous and delightful and horrifying stories I dreamt, but they go away every time I look at the screen.

It’s empty. Like me.

For the first time ever, I can’t find words for my thoughts. I can’t put my pen to paper. I don’t know when it happened, but the words that used to flow effortlessly from my mind onto paper disappeared. If only you could see what’s inside. I don’t feel things anymore, and how can a writer write without feelings? I can’t feel my characters, I can’t feel their emotions, and I don’t know what situations to put them in anymore because I can’t feel anything.

Just like I can’t feel you.

The stories are recycled; they aren’t new. Our memories play in my head over and over. I see your smile in my dreams and nothing in my nightmare. You took the best part of me when you left, and I was left with nothing but shattered pieces. I can’t imagine the picture of what we could’ve been anymore. It burns every time I think about what happened.

And just so you know, I will not create new memories. The old ones are warm enough, and they’ll last me through the days I have to spend without you.”

© 2022 Alison Lian