It feels like months and yet it’s only been a week. I haven’t felt like writing a single thing nor have I even felt like messing with any social networking on behalf of my writing either. Does my lack of motivation make me any less of an author? Does it show signs that maybe a writers life is not one that’s meant for me? Am I meant to be doing something else just because I’m not chomping at the bit with every spare moment I have to scribe words into existence?
I don’t know the true answer to those questions but the answers that I feel within me say yes to all of them. I feel as if I am a mere shadow in the writing world when all else is corporeal. I’m no one and nothing in the scheme of things because I can’t produce what I feel is being looked for. When every day turns to night it yells to me even more. It makes me realize where I don’t belong because I’m constantly fading away. It seems so simple…
When a shadow is in the darkness it becomes non existent while all else shall remain.
I’m a shadow.
I wish I had something to say. I hate having days to where I have nothing. No story, no poetry. No words. For in my world, no words mean no feelings. No feelings mean no life. No life means… Well, I think you know what that means. It’s always a sad day when the words fail to come together to create. For it’s not just a sad day, it’s an empty day. Which in my book, isn’t really much of a day at all.