Dear Lady,
Thank you for your letters.
Thank you for caring so much about me.
Thank you for shouldering so much during those couple of weeks when I was no more than a sack of potatoes.
*Speaking of sacks of potatoes . . . have you seen the sack of potatoes in our pantry?*
Writing used to come so easily to me. It used to be what I did. It was my go to. Almost my whole life. Now each word seems so labored over. Like some muscle I've not used in so long, it feels almost wearisome to write. What a strange thing.
I've been writing longer than I can ever remember doing anything. In fifth grade we had creative writing assignments and I was turning in 30-50 page books. Graphic books. My teacher stopped reading my stories they were so graphic. He just started giving me full credit because I wrote so much, but he told me he didn't want to read such graphic stories. I only remember two: one was a 1920s gangster epic, the other was an Aliens movie ripoff.
When I was in sixth or seventh grade I was introduced to Dead Poets Society and poetry. That year I asked for a collection of Robert Frost's poems and I still have it. I didn't really start dabbling in poetry myself until late into high school. I had a light blue spiral notebook with my poems in it, but I've lost it since we moved into this house. A lot of it was trite high schoolish poetry, but there was some occasional flashes of inspiration. Unfortunately I've lost it all.
Didn't mean for this to be kind of a downer of a letter, but it's where my train-of-thought went. It's not really a downer either, just my thoughts. Why did that inspiration I once felt so strongly peter out? Do you remember when you and I took that first walk around Provo? I was headed out looking for inspiration for stories as part of my film program application and I happened to find you at the park. You agreed to wander aimlessly with me as I looked for inspiration. At one point we passed a child's drawing in the grass and I made us sit down in the grass next to it as I pondered the scene. It led to one of the story synopsis' that I submitted to the program.
That's what life used to be to me. Now I spend so much time either banking or thinking about how much I don't like banking.
Sorry if the loss of that inspiration in my life has led to a similar loss in yours. You have never ceased to be an incredible light and joy in my life. Your presence has only ever grown in brilliance and happiness, and oh how I love you for it.
While I may not feel the same inspirations that I once felt, I have always felt the inspiration to joy in your company.
You are my good company.
I love you.
.me
