Ahh, writer’s block! So we meet again! Well, I do admit your arrival has been a little untimely, and I must say I do NOT appreciate you showing up to my doorstep unannounced at this late hour.
So, I am prepared to fight you with a new poetry challenge. Buckle-up writer’s block! You’ll never know what hit you!
After all these years, I can’t believe I have finally found you. Besides the fact that I have been searching; looking everywhere, and asking everybody where you could have possibly gone, you now appeared before me like an effortless dream. Coincidence– no, fate brought us here today on this very railway platform, in this certain train station, in the most romantic city in the world: Paris. Desperately pleading with my heart, I call out to God; asking him to make your eyes meet mine because my feet are frozen to the concrete floor; too nervous to move towards you. Embracing you and holding your delicate heart in my hands has been the only thought on my mind for years since we last saw each other. Forever in my mind will remain the last kiss that we shared on the boulevard, running for our lives from people who didn’t think we could ever get that far.
“Go on, walk up to her,” I tell myself. “Heal the pain that has plagued your heart for decades after parting ways with her.” It could be so simple, wouldn’t it be? Just walking up to her and telling her that I still love her should be so simple because she should remember me, right? Keeping track of me was too hard for you, so decades later–now, we have the chance to rekindle what was torn from us by lands, the ocean, and your parents. “Lose the feelings you have for him,“ they told you. Maybe you listened to their desperate advice, but I know you better then they can imagine. No, you couldn’t still be staring ahead, waiting for the train to arrive as you hold your bag tighter against your chest.
Of course, I’m not handsome like I used to be, but you– you’re still so exquisite. Perfectly poised and elegant, despite your aging years, you still stand there waiting; not for me, but for the train, I think. Quarter after three now, and we’re still here, but you still haven’t seen me yet. Rose sellers are milling around the platform, asking for Euros in exchange for their red blossoms. Should I buy one and present it to you as a gift? There must be a good reason why you still don’t see me… Useless, that’s what I am. Very useless for sure, because you still don’t recognize me and I’m standing next to you now. What could possibly be wrong? “Xavier, is it you?” you tell me as you reach your hand out to my coat collar; grasping in vain onto what we still have left of each other. Your blind eyes are still the same light blue they were before, but they seem so empty as I lean over on my cane to peer into them and taken aback by the light that had been extinguished. “Zelda, yes, it’s me, my love.”
This short story is comprised of 26 sentences. Each sentence begins with a different letter of the alphabet. This style of storytelling gives one a great prompt for tapping into a creative process, buried deep beneath a terrible bout of writer’s block. Try this sometime, and see what you come up with! Good luck!
HCXO,
Marisa