When a story dies, a piece of you dies along with it.
It holds you captive, never straying far from your mind. Constantly, you are thinking about it, what could have been or should have been, and everything that didn’t happen. It drives you mad with longing, the longing to revive it again. Even though you know it’s dead for good.
When a story dies, you can’t let go.
You try to hold onto it with everything you have. You remember the characters and their world. The tales that they were entangled in. You continue to reference the protagonist as if they’re still here, as is they didn’t fade away into the wind.
When a story dies, you want the story to live on.
You begin to try to rewrite it, or start anew with the same characters but a different plot. It’s all in vain, because you yourself know that it won’t ever be the same. Your heart isn’t in it anymore, but it won’t stop trying.
When a story dies, let it be.
The story died for a reason. You gave up on it for a reason. Your heart wasn’t in it for a reason. Sometimes, no matter how much it hurts you have to let it be. Leave that story in the trash, where it belongs. Don’t bring yourself a knife to reopen old wounds.
Please just let it be.
A truth that I, myself could not realize.
There are many stories that I have started and spun their webs, but I killed them. My heart wasn’t into it and it wasn’t who I am anymore. I had grown as a writer and these stories had not grown. They’re are not pieces of work that I would want someone to associate with me. It hurts because I was in love with the ideas, but I just can’t write the story.
Love and let go,
Queen JoJo ❤