“Just start with a sentence”,
Those words I repeat to myself,
Agonizing those hours I’ve spent since 10
In the morning, and now its
“You’ll get past it…”
I whisper to my heart,
Hoping my writer’s block would fade.
“You’ll never get past her…”
My heart whispers back,
Growing heavier in the heartbroken shade.
These hands of mine,
the hands that could write their way into your heart,
are blocks of sand now;
just 2 dusty canvases of art.
In all fairness, I could just confess;
“I can’t write anymore.”
“I can’t move on.”
But I guess its just me being insecure.
In the end, I guess
it just doesn’t matter.
I can’t write anymore;
I can’t feel anymore.
I can’t be myself anymore.
Its been a while. I believe that I was just facing a massive writer’s block. I’ve been earning to write for so long, and the relief I feel today in unfathomable.
Because for the past few months, my temporary inability to write rooted a deep fear within me – that I had lost my ability to write. That saddened me beyond comparison, because my writings were and still are my preferred method of sharing my feelings and expressing myself. I am thankful that the handful of you that used to read my blog are still here. To anybody who is reading, this is not over. I will be back – Rudy, 2019