Lately, an instant thought has taken root within me - a curiosity about the fate of untold stories. It’s like a relentless whisper that refuses to fade, persistently nudging me to ponder the mysteries of the stories left unspoken. Today, I’m quite lost for words, frustrated that I actually don’t have a story to tell, or as my dad would ask "Where is your daily monologue Tanya?” I don’t know Dad, and it’s really troubling my soul. Yet my fascination about untold stories is refusing to let go.
As I sit in the stillness, the ridgebacks asleep at my feet, I find myself thinking about Haiku, as though it’s my muse when I’m all out of storytelling. Let me share my very own Haiku, which is a small but potent reflection of my current state of mind…
Words left unspoken
Invisible ink on pages
Lost to time’s embrace
Those three simple lines encapsulate the very essence of how I’m feeling today. I’m caught between the ghosts of untold stories and inability to let the pen do the sharing. Maybe, lik…