Crossing the Invisible Lava Stream

I don't believe in writer's block. I don't believe the words ever leave you fully, I have though come to accept that there are times when the words elude you for whatever reason.

For at least 3 months I have sat in front of this screen and tried to convey some insight into my life, my emotions and the journey it has been. What I came up with were barely coherent ramblings and an attempt at intellectualising life in the most superficial way.
Needless to say, those pieces won't see the light of day.

The right words though continued to elude me and they became a game of cat and mouse. The words would come in flashes and no pen or phone in sight to capture them. I'd be ready to write and the words would stand across the street like a kid taunting another kid protected by an invisible river of lava, "nah nah you can't catch me."

Each missed opportunity left a longing in me like when you're ready to go out and party and absolutely no one is around to go out with; each phone call going to voicemail.
At times, it felt like not being able to see a loved one and that empty feeling in the gut that exasperates the longing.

Then came the voices "you're not a writer if you don't write." "People work full time jobs and still write." "Does writing count if no one reads it." "Maybe you were a writer but what about now?"

Now I can deal with words eluding me but those voices, fuck that.

Maybe it's because deep down with all my education and manners, I am still a kid from the hood who will defend himself. Perhaps it’s because as a gay man and a Latino, I bear the scars of a society that makes us justify our very existence. It’s probably a combination of those things and a lifetime of experience and memories shaped by always knowing "this too shall pass." The fact I am still here is a testament to that.

It's a foggy start to a September day here in Somerset. Another summer has pretty much passed and it is the first time in months that I have been able to write freely.

Even though the words played games with me, I used that time to get back to reading and journaling on a regular basis. I have kept notes on existing projects and new ones I want to dive into. I found on my laptop loads of work in progress pieces written in 2019 onwards. It made me realise that through the pandemic, hubby's cancer, the complete shift in life with the walls collapsing around us and well everything else thrown at us; the writer has been there walking silently alongside me.

Okay sometimes he's been across the invisible stream of lava but unlike that mean kid, he never mocks me.
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He's just waiting for me to realise that the lava isn't there. I'm almost ready to believe him.