I can’t exactly remember when and how I lost it. I'm not sure if its fair to say it happened when I moved into someone else’s life. But that was pretty much the long and short of it. I never imagined I would survive a life without writing. It has been five years (half a decade!) and I couldn’t say it was a life lacking in substance. I just wasn’t writing. I am surprised to have still learned many things about myself without it.Tonight, in fits and starts I try anew. I really doubt if I could ever write the same silly way again. But it has been crawling like a monkey on my back, pulling my hair and tugging me from behind with that familiar force that used to make me stay up all night. I used to slave beneath words and shadows while humanity sleeps, wrapped in the only world that makes me truly free.
Tonight as I look back and wonder about the years gone by, I find none of the contemplation that used to mark my younger days. There is a kind of self-absorption in my meanderings that I had unknowingly let go.
Tonight, like an old friend it has come back after many years of absence. Tonight I am sitting up until midnight for old time’s sake, coffee by my table and the darkness around me, to catch that one last sentence that is trying to kill me.
Welcome back into my life and please, please never leave me again.
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