366: One Story Per Day (2024)

Day 81 - Maybe You're Right

   In the calm seclusion of his little apartment, Matthew sat at his desk, looking blankly at the blank sheet before him. His pen used to dance over the page, creating elaborate tapestries of words and emotions, but now it lay forgotten in his fingers, its ink faded and its function lost.

     Across the room, the lamp's soothing glow threw long shadows across the walls, revealing the shelves stacked with dusty books of poetry—relics of a previous life that Matthew had long abandoned.

     "Are you okay, Matt?" a voice called out from the doorway, breaking the silence.

     Matthew looked up and saw his roommate, Sarah, waiting at the doorway, her forehead pinched with anxiety.

     "I'm fine," he said, attempting a grin.

     "Just trying to get some writing done." he followed up.

     Sarah entered the room, her eyes filled with pity as she surveyed the blank sheet before him.

     "It's been a while since you've written anything," she said softly, her voice full of compassion.

     Matthew groaned and laid his pen down, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

     "I know," he said, his voice full of sadness.

     "I just... I don't know. It's like the words won't come anymore." he explained.

     Sarah crossed the room and sat on the edge of the desk, her eyes searching Matthew's face for answers.

     "Maybe you're just going through a rough patch," she said in an optimistic tone.

     "You've always been such a talented writer, Matt. I'm sure the inspiration will come back to you eventually," she said in a motivating tone.

     Matthew managed a faint grin and grabbed for his cup of tea, the porcelain mug's warmth calming his tense nerves.

    "I hope you're right," he whispered.

     As the hours passed, Matthew became lost in meditation, his mind wandering back to a time when writing was his greatest passion—a time when the words flowed effortlessly from his fingertips, carrying the echoes of his heart.

     But now, those echoes had faded into quiet, leaving just the barren emptiness of a creative well run dry.

     "I used to love writing poetry," Matthew said, his voice full of remorse.

     "It was like... like breathing, you know? But now... now it just feels like I'm suffocating," he confessed.

     Sarah reached out and clasped his hand, her touch providing a reassuring anchor in the sea of uncertainty.

     "I know it's hard," she added quietly.

     "But maybe it's time to let go of the past and embrace whatever comes next. Who knows? Maybe you'll discover a new passion along the way."

     Matthew nodded slowly, the significance of her words seeping in.

     "Yeah," he replied, his voice full of hope.

     "Maybe you're right."