A Lost Translation

I just can't seem to get what I want onto paper anymore...

I'm just not happy with what I've written lately. It doesn't move me anymore - it all feels like it is missing something. I sit here with pen in hand and scratch away at the paper. Thought and feeling one after the other. And yet, when I've expelled it all I cannot seem to put it together in a way that I can feel happy with.

It's been too long. I'm scared I've lost the blessing I once used to convey all of this wonder and feeling. I've been writing much more than usual lately, hoping to re-ignite what I once had. To wade through all of the thoughts and writings that aren't enough, that fall short. And get back to the thoughts, the hopes, - the very words that seemed to skip the pen and fall from my mind directly to the paper itself.

I want it to feel connected. I want to be able to materialize the goings-on around me and within me. I want reach out into that abyss and bring back exactly what I see within my own mind - to overcome the walls and barriers of the conversion into writing. It used to just come to me. It wasn't work - it wasn't thought - I just picked up the pen, set out the parchment and started writing. It was there. I didn't know I had anything to say. But every time I reached the end of another writing I knew it was exactly what I wanted it to be.

I miss those nights. I miss the feeling of knowing that what I've just written is exactly what I was meant to coalesce.