I have not written for more than a year. Did something happen? Yes. I can’t write about it (yet). But it dominates my consciousness. As a result, my mind can’t think of something else I can write about.
In the opening scene of one of my favourite plays, The Invention of Love by Tom Stoppard, the deceased main character (A E Housman) was asked to be silent by Charon, the boatman sending him to the netherworld. “My life was marked by long silences,” he replied.
So was mine. There were certainly occasions where I should have said something but remained silent. These memories are too painful to dredge up. Perhaps one day I will overcome.
For now, break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.