Flow like honey

 I've wondered when my days of writing would come to an end. When the words stayed buried in my mind, stories forever untold. Like my body, my mind has slowed, and with it, gratitude for words written and words told to sleepy eyes in mother's arms or reading under the covers, the moon a flashlight guiding you to every word as monsters waited in the darkness of your room. I've wondered how many of my stories touched someone who knew the loss of love or loss in general. How many tears have fallen, and how many smiles have turned into glorious laughter echoing through the halls of life? I've wondered when the writing would end, but I've realized that even a slow pen is better than no pen. The words may only flow like honey, but inside of me, there is another story to be told, no matter how long it takes.

MO