When the Words Aren’t There…

There are times when something that is such a normal part of your life becomes distant. It’s still there, only the edges have become hazy and there’s an air of memory to it, like something half-forgotten yet would almost be tangible if you could only wrap your fingers about it and draw it closer. But like smoke, it remains unattainable and subject to the faintest of breezes… Grasping fingers slide through the air and come back wanting.

We’re not supposed to talk about the fallow times -t...