i have nothing to say. i have nothing to say, for once. i have
been lost in my head all day, writing useless scenes in my head: what will
happen when this happens, when that, what i want to say to
you, what i don't, what i'm desperate to say but can't or never will. backspace
backspace rewrite, revise, find the perfect rhythm, the perfect cadence. words
are music. a well-turned phrase can melt your heart. can break your heart. can
remind you of the heart you had once so long ago. rewrite the dialogue, it's
not poetic enough, it does not sing.
i have not learned yet that real life is not scripted. that we
stumble over words and say the wrong things. i am too embarrassed. backspace
backspace scratch that rewrite. plan it all out. find the subtext. always the
subtext. (ray carver knew all about subtext.
he was the god of subtext, his stories are nothing but. when the doctor said he
had six months to live with the bottle in hand, he heard, you have not spent enough time with your wife,
you have not written enough, you do not remember enough. he stayed his hand and
did not drink again, and had ten more years, just like that.)
maybe that line i scribble on paper and hand to you with eyes downcast that sings just so to your heart will save me from my shortcomings. maybe you will see my subtext at last, that there is nothing more to me than words and a great gushing taped up heart.
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