Unfortunately, the desire to write is pretty much never in compliance with the capacity to write. Thoughts have never ceased flowing; words, on the other hand, have never started. Images, feelings, emotions, ideas all fill my mind, yet I’m severely lacking in the ability to make sense of them. Failing to sleep, I laid awake this morning for an hour, overwhelmed by an incredible urge to write; to comprehend what was going on in my mind. But I keep failing. I finally grasp something I’ve been struggling with for but a second, and then it’s gone. The big questions about who I am, what I want, what I need, what I believe must be answered – and they would be – but the answers are lost somewhere within myself, all too scared of being found. Alas, for the entirety of this thinking, all I’ve got to show for it is this fear of an eternally blank page.
