A Decision

A Decision

What do you still hold on the page that is filled with it? Let’s be honest — words carry weight. Alone, they say little. But when connected with purpose, they have the power to communicate thoughts, emotions, truths, and dreams.

Years of teaching creative writing have shown me how powerful words can be. A sentence can hurt. A sentence can heal. A paragraph can open the heart to love, the most profound offering one person can make to another.

I always encourage my students to be intentional with their language. Every word matters. Ultimately, fiction has the power to reach places in the reader’s soul that reality sometimes can’t. A struggling reader can find hope in how a character overcomes it. A person caught in a heartbreak can be understood, or perhaps even mended, through the imaginative journey of another.

But right now, the words aren’t coming to me.

My favorite sheet of thick, linen paper lies on my desk. Nearby is the fountain pen I always use when something is really important. Call it nostalgia, but I believe that nothing compares to the authenticity of a handwritten letter when you want your message to last.

The trouble is, before I can start writing, I have to make a decision. Not a small one — a major, life-changing choice. One that revolves around that most complex of emotions: love.

Love, as novels often describe it, feels like an unstoppable force — magnetic, epic, unforgettable. And sometimes, it really is. But in real life, love also shares space with the burdens of everyday life: jobs, bills, responsibilities, dates. It’s messy. Real delicate.

And yet, I know without a doubt that I love her.

The question I wrestle with is this: Is love enough?

As we grow older, our priorities often change. Simplicity becomes more appealing. In my case, I carry very little from my past. However, the man I love has many memories, scars, unresolved pieces.

So I sit with this dilemma. Do I turn away, guarding the peace and predictability? Or do I embrace not only love but everything that comes with it and move forward into the unknown?

In many ways, this reminds me of writing myself. When crafting a story, we carefully consider our choices. What traits will make the character real? What paths will move the plot forward? We balance strength with vulnerability. Beauty with struggle.

This too is a story—a real one. And I have to decide which way it will go.

My gaze returns to the blank page. My mind races through every worry, every doubt, every hope. And then, quietly, clarity emerges. My hand reaches for the pen, and the words begin to flow—not perfect, but sincere. They carry my decision, shaped by everything I’ve felt and feared and finally understood.

A deep peace washes over me as the letter ends. That familiar sense of peace that follows a tough but honest choice.

I fold the paper, slide it into an envelope, and write his name on the front. I seal it with wax—old-fashioned, perhaps, but fitting. I place it where he will see it and step outside, the weight of indecision lifting from my shoulders.

The page is no longer blank.

I have made my decision.

I have chosen love.