Time's Gone

I sat at a picnic table, under the shade of some grand Oak tree. She looked weary, but stout.
“I’ve bet you’ve seen a great many things,” I whispered under my breath. The wind blew softly, and I took the rustling leaves as a sign that she somehow heard my comment. I smiled.

It had been a long summer. The tourists had all but robbed me of my sanity. And my patience was shot. But it wasn’t until after he left that I realized things had changed. The sun didn’t shine as bright as it used to and the once-dancing stars hung limp in the night sky. Flowers didn’t smell quite as sweet. The birds rarely sang anymore. But of all that, the worst part was that I couldn’t sleep. And if I couldn’t sleep? Well, when the sleep stopped, so did the writing. I could not write a damn thing. So what do you do when you can no longer do the only thing you know how to do?

I’ve been asking myself the same question for 3 months now.