When the Body Weighs More Than Words

 Some days, writing hurts —

Not because of what you're trying to say, but because your body simply won’t follow.
It’s been two days now. Two days where the weight of my own body crushes every attempt at motivation, every spark of creativity. The pills make everything slower, heavier. My mind is too fogged to chase new stories.

I move through daily tasks like a machine set to low power — not living them, just executing.
And yet, I type this. Slowly.
Each key is heavier than the last.

I’m writing this not to complain, but to remember: this is part of it too.
The days when the words won’t come, when the stories hide, when being human takes precedence over being a writer.
I hope this fog lifts soon.
I hope the stories come back.
Until then, I wait — quietly, and a little heavier.