A Pause in my Story

The Last Line  For Now

There comes a time in every journey when the road that once felt familiar begins to look uncertain, when the things that once brought comfort start to feel heavy in the hands. I have reached such a point now—a crossroads where my thoughts no longer flow the way they used to, where my heart hesitates before it speaks, and where the words that once carried me now feel too fragile to hold. Every story has an ending, every melody eventually finds its final note, and every string—no matter how tightly it is played—must one day loosen and rest. I believe that time has come for me as well.

For the past months, life has been heavier than usual. The days have felt long, the nights even longer, and the thoughts running through my mind have become too tangled to turn into sentences. Sadness has settled itself quietly within me, not with loud cries but with a silent insistence that changes everything in its path. It clouds decisions, slows steps, and dims the colours of ordinary days. I find myself standing in the middle of moments without knowing where to go or how to begin again. And in this stillness, in this difficult space, I have realised something painful but necessary: I no longer have the strength to keep writing the way I once did. Writing was once my refuge—a sanctuary where my heart found shape, where my emotions found meaning, where the world made sense even when everything else felt uncertain. My words carried my joys, my fears, my hopes, and my silent prayers. They held memories I could not say aloud and dreams I dared not confess. They were companions during lonely nights and witnesses to the most fragile parts of my soul. But now, even those comforting letters feel distant from me.

This decision does not come from disappointment in writing, nor from a lack of love for it. If anything, it comes from loving it too much—so much that I cannot bear to offer it anything less than my whole heart. And right now, my heart is tired. It is searching for peace, for healing, for a small place in the world where it can breathe without the pressure of turning emotion into expression. I cannot force beauty out of exhaustion, nor can I create music when my mind is wrapped in silence. The words deserve more, and I deserve rest.It hurts to admit it. It hurts to imagine letting go of something that has been a part of me for so long. But I have learned that endings are not failures—they are simply necessary pauses life asks of us. They are gentle reminders that we are human, that we feel deeply, and that even the strongest of us needs to step back sometimes. Stopping is not giving up; it is listening. It is honouring the quiet voice inside that whispers, “You need time.”

I know this decision may come as a surprise, but I hope it is understood with kindness. My silence is not a rejection of my past, but a soft acknowledgement of my present. These days, I feel lost—unable to see the next step, unsure of what direction I should take. The clarity that once came so easily is now a blurred outline, and I cannot keep pretending that I am the same person who wrote so freely before. I am still that person at my core, but the world around me has shifted, and I must shift with it.So, for now, I am choosing to lay my pen down—not in defeat but in respect for the journey that brought me here. I am choosing to honour my own heart by allowing it space to rest. I am choosing silence not as an ending, but as a temporary shelter, a moment to gather myself before I can stand again. Maybe one day the words will return. Maybe one day I will feel the old spark again, the gentle rush of emotion that makes my fingers move without thought. Maybe the stories I paused will find their way back to me. But until that day comes, I must accept that it is time to stop.

There is no bitterness in this decision—only a quiet sadness and a softer kind of hope. Sadness for what I am setting aside, but hope that this pause will lead me somewhere better. Life has its own rhythm, and sometimes the music fades before it rises again. I believe mine will return when I am ready, when the weight in my chest lightens, and when the world stops feeling so overwhelming.For now, this silence is my healing. This pause is my protection. And this decision, though painful, is my truth.This is not goodbye, but simply a moment where my heart asks for understanding. The words may end for now, but they have not disappeared. They are waiting—quiet, patient, and gentle—for the day I have strength enough to hold them again.And when that day comes, I will return—not as someone broken, but as someone renewed.

Until then, my story continues, even without the ink.

                             🖋️   ……….Joe❤️