Excerpt: Untitled

I am losing my ability to write.

It is a scary thing - just imagine, one moment, the words soaring from your fingertips, characters' words tumbling onto the paper in raw expressions of love and regret and hatred and anger and then - it just stops. You can't find the words, the feelings... and as you look over what you've written you see only eggshells, hollow and fragile, waiting to be broken.

This happens to everyone, of course. But not all the time, like it is with me. Every time I commit pen to paper, everything just tumbles away in a waterfall, and I am left feeling drained, and cheated.

Looking over this, I have to say it's perhaps the most honest thing I've written in years. I wonder what Birch would say.