Concept by Lola with image, after slight colour adjustments by Exposure, by Pietro Jeng from Pexels
Lola Marshall’s emotions wax and wane through love lost… and found?
For four minutes and 57 seconds I have sat vacuously, watching the black bar pulse. A ceaseless, spaceless mass of white filling my screen.
I spent the past month telling myself, convincing myself, I’d been afflicted by a dire case of writer’s block. Scolding myself for abandoning writing. Kicking myself for floundering when attempting to write. Criticising my amateur brain for its clunky thoughts. Chiding my dopey hand.
I know now that my brain and hand were undeserving, that I feared committing my intimate moments to paper, where my memories would be soaked with dark, claggy Biro ink.
I wanted to write about how our toothbrushes kiss in the pot; yours green, mine purple. Or how my lips mark a greasy smooch on the rim of your cup when I steal a sip. Or how your fingertips leave my skin buzzing like prints in hot sand. Or how I love to press my face to your face, cheeks flushed and balmy, and watch my gleaming eyes through yours.
I couldn’t let myself write about those things, though. I was afraid if I did, the moments would be tainted and tarnished and tinged. Instead, I shielded our loved-up toothbrushes and glossy cup, our tickly fingers, rosy faces and glimmering eyes from the rough pages of my notebook.
In partnership with Write by You, a social enterprise supporting young female writers to develop their creativity, confidence and writing skills.