Rain Clouds

Incapable

The gears in my mind that used to wind and turn so fast, are slowing. The ideas that never become words, die off. The tick-tick-ticking of pestering thoughts give up. And urge me to give up as well.

Why can't I process this train of endless emotions that long to become stories? There once was a place in my mind that filled and toppled over with wonderful ideas. But that place is now empty, full of cobwebs and dust. Lost, buried deep inside me.

How can I find it again? That place I'd go when the world shut me out and I just needed to express how I felt.

I miss the days I'd feel lonely, and escape to the world of wonder I'd get lost in. The words, the powerful language... And I'd create something spectacular.

But that gift was taken from me, ripped from my heart leaving an empty feeling in my chest.

My power of writing unique ideas is gone.

How do I get it back? Can I?

I'm too weak. I can't search for those ideas. I'll never find them again.

I let those brilliant thoughts slip from my grasp. They drifted away, soon to wither to dust.

I am incapable of writing. Incapable of thinking. Incapable of loving what I write.

So I may be unable to find those old words, but I can create new ones. It'll take effort, it'll take time. It'll take practice.

But I am willing, to get my thoughts whirling again. To take an emotion, put it into words, and form those words into something beautiful. I'll sort my language for only the best, the most poetic. My feelings in the writing will swirl up from the pages and enter your mind and make you think, Wow... Who wrote this?

But I am incapable of such a gift... I always have been.

So I'll drown in the dread I've made for myself. I'll swallow the water of hopelessness as I sink deeper and deeper and deeper... I'm incapable.

But at least I could make a poem out of it.

Author's Note:

This was written a while ago, in a time where my relationship with writing was very... delicate, for lack of a better word.

But these words become real to me ever so often, and today is one of those times.

-I. Quill