A requiem for all the books I didn't write

Today is the day I stop not writing “my book”; I stop scribbling and doodling in the margins of my time, filling up notebooks with unreadable frustrated ink spots and remains of so called manic moments of inspiration.

 

Today is the day I start.

 

Today is the day I stop feeling “not smart enough”.

 

Today is the day I say goodbye to you.

 

Today is the day it is no longer OK for me to not write about my experiences and hypotheses on intelligence and energy.

 

Today is the day I have three separate conversations with my sister, with my mum, with one of my best friends about them not knowing whether they are smart. The disillusionments of their not having realized their potential; not at all, not even knowing what that would have been, not ever being satisfied about it, respectively.

 

Today is the day a coachee / highly intelligent successful and gentle media expert, whose esteem I value very much, offers to publish “my book”. Together. This is a promise. The twenty-eigth of September.

 

Today is the day my darling challenges and supports me with three poems by Bukowski on writing, trying and insanity.

 

Today is the day I decide to invent a word for the act of supporting someone by giving them the exact challenge they need to move on, because that is exactly what the genius of my darlings love does to me over and over. 

 

Today is the day all things unblock in me.

 

Today is the day I express my deep gratitude to you for all those years of being my dreamt fillers of future shelves.

 

Today is the day you lose importance to me.

 

Today is the day I weep because that is true.

 

Truly truly thank you.

 

Today is actually already tomorrow, 3 AM, And I feel alive, energy and intelligence aligned.