Death has stunted my creativity. So much death in 25 short years. It creeps in slowly and unexpectedly pounces. He has strangled my muse and enjoys it. I wonder where she has gone my Arabella Winter, my once constant companion. It’s the winter that makes her thrive you see: the snow that purifies and makes all beautiful. Under all this ice she’s hidden away.
I find lines at the corners of my eyes. A haggard face and yet so young. Where have all my stories gone. All of the tales I held within my heart seem to have fled with the death of her. So much death, so much darkness that we must endure. I do not carry the answers. I carry only a broken heart since you were taken. Where have all my stories gone? They died with you.
I’m trying to write something every day. My mind is rusty, she’s been hiding in books since grandma passed away. Maybe some day I’ll be able to write again, to really write those stories that were kept safe within me. Maybe they’ll come back. Maybe Arabella Winter will return.