I’m not sure who decided that the path of least resistance is the one worth taking, or why the road not taken is always a missed opportunity. All I know is that my words are often misconstrued as an overarching criticism, that my pithy messages get lost in the perceived loquaciousness of an earnest attempt to connect to the ones I love. People think I’m a critic who uses too many words, to put it simply.

I’ve been asking myself Wendell Berry’s billion-dollar question: WHAT ARE People FOR? Better yet, what are RELATIONSHIPS for? How to define that four-letter word we hate to love to say? “Love” has now become the cliche of its own parody. We have used, and overused, and spit out this word so much that it confuses the best of us.

I used to think that I could write my way out of anything. No matter how many ticks were on my prison wall, I could talk my way to freedom. I’d just chew my way through the walls of the maze to get to the prize.

I cannot talk my way into love anymore. Or perhaps love just got tired of talking.

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