the thing you can't say yet

You keep trying to start where the story starts. The beginning.

That's the hardest door in the house. At the beginning you'd have to explain how you got there, why it mattered, what it meant. That's not telling. That's defending.

So start at the end. The last few minutes before you left.

Where you were standing. What your hands were doing. The thing you almost said and didn't, and then the door was closing and it got decided for you.

You don't have to explain any of it. Put down what you can see. A hand, a hallway, the sound of a kettle or a car.

The last minute is usually the part you've already replayed a hundred times. It isn't blocked. It's just the part you actually want to talk about, and nobody has asked you about it yet.

I'm asking. One detail. Not a feeling.