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.
Where were you when my tears were falling and my heart was breaking.
Where were you when everything within me could only feel aching.
Where were you as I thought your name within my head.
Where were you as I lay alone within my bed.
Where were you when the times really mattered.
Where were you when everything was shattered.
Where were you when I inhaled my last breathe of air.
Where were you, that’s right, you’re never there.
And as the night was nearly over and the world had turned its head, it was finally time to lay in my already made bed. It was made with pain and heartbreak and a side of fear, for it held my every single dropped tear. It held my dreams of the future, my present, and my past, every single little thing from the first to the last. Now as I lay here, it holds my last breathe tonight, for there is no longer anything that’s worth the effort to fight. My eyes will slowly close and dreams will ensue and finally every single one will finally come true.