Silence Is Killing!

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction, said Virginia Woolf....

And here I am hoping my new found hubby will replenish me with resources to sit back, chew on my pencil and scribble while the rain patters down on the window-sills across which I have drawn curtains for fear that a fly might disturb my delicate balance....

For death, pain and the macabre fascinated me and the world shunned me for being wonky upstairs...my love stood by me...watched me mumble in silence at the blue screen with little words staring back in complete meaning, hoping I would hit backspace and make the silence grow in size...

he stood by patiently as I scribbled, mumbled, swore and cried....I was a lunatic....I needed restraint...yet he let me out...to smell the wet grass and the white daisies...while the wet sand caught on to my sandals and made impressions on my his favourite carpet...yet he watched in silence...why this sheer love? I ask again...do I return it? I don't know...my words are failing me...I don't want to be silent....I'd rather die!