The glass of water

I sat to write. I was not sure what I was going to write but something would start to flow as soon as I had the intention to write something. The problem is, that didn’t happen.

I was sitting at the table, pretty much empty minded. I brought a cup of tea and a glass of water to the table in the hope that tea would do its magic.

“Why do I want to force myself to write if it’s clear I don’t feel like writing anything?” That was the best thought I could produce.

It was obvious I didn’t want to write this day. I felt like doing some other things instead, you know, something not electronics’ related. Because that’s what writing has become electronics’ related. We still call it writing. I’ll go back to that some other time.

With the tea gone, I noticed I had been staring at the untouched glass of water like it might reveal something; like if the answers were there, in the crystal clear water, so unlike my mind which felt rather foggy, although with the same stillness as the water in the glass.

No sign of life. Just quiet clarity, suspended in waiting. Waiting for something to happen.

Outside, life has a different rhythm. I can hear it. But inside, the glass of water and I sit together, perfectly still, doing nothing, feeling everything that is missing, feeling the absence of everything. We are so different and yet, so much alike.

“I’ll write tomorrow,” I thought. And I went to sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

~~~

©️Susan Fourtané, 2025 - All rights reserved (8/June/2025)