...

I didn't realize Janice took me away from my writing until it was as it my fingers were too stiff to clang about on my typewriter keys. I didn't realize a lot when I was with her. How I slowly made myself smaller, small enough to fit beside her as "big as the Sun" ego.

Pretty enough to look at, but look at it too long and you'll go blind. And I was blinded by something not quite love, but not quite "not love" either. Maybe that is why I find myself in front of my typewriter again.

I am writing again, yes, and I am writing to find myself too. I am looking for those parts I thought were too big to fit into my suitcase when I packed my life away to jet off to wherever Janice wanted to go. The point being, whatever SHE wanted.

What do I want? I look at the keys that used to be my refuge, my love wondering how I could have ever gone so long without their music in my life.

It is raining here. The window has fogged over from the Summer rain in this Savannah heat. A couple is running side by side under one of their jackets, too small and barely doing anything to keep them from the rain, but they don't seem to mind, lost as they are in their laughter.

I don't think I ever laughed like that with Janice. I think I imitated a laugh. Which sounds like something so hollow it felt as thought I was knocking on a door to a room, one I kept thinking, "When I finally open it, there will be something amazing there. Something worth staying for." T

There never was.

I don't think it was all Janice's fault. I should have run from her green eyes after she told me I spent too much time on my typewriter, yet never even thought to ask me, "What were you writing about?" which really translates to "What makes you tick? Where do you find wonder and joy? Why is it through your typewriter?"

But she never did and I gave up hoping for more long ago.

So I am back. The rain is a low thrum against my window and I finally am beginning to find parts of myself through the keys on my typewriter. The clacking is a familiar melody to the story of my life.

I may have strayed from the page for a while, but I am back and I will not be leaving my story unwritten, not anymore.