A friend of mine recently asked me why I stopped writing, the question was quite a shock. Me? Stop writing? I'd sooner stop breathing. But I understood where it came from. I haven't written anything that wasn't top-secret, private, to be hidden deep in my journals... in a while :)
I miss the feeling,
The anticipation, the tingle in my belly.
I miss not knowing, but knowing regardless.
I miss the spark, that kindles the flame,
Inspiration.
Writers write, writers need to write.
When pen meets blank paper, wrapped in
Creative possibility, my joy is complete.
I miss the fireworks, the magic,
I miss the roller-coaster.
Writing heals, restores and relieves me.
Writing renews me, and I miss it.
I miss me.
