To write, one has to have the desire. This has what has been escaping me these last few years. The desire is gone. The words do not come as easily. They are just as beautiful as before, I have learned much more, but the well is dry and the spigot squeaks and nothing comes out.
One could tap the pipe and hear the emptiness far down into the earth.
And that is where I am. The well is empty, but yet I write here again. Perhaps I hear water down there somewhere. Perhaps I hope in a rush of dust and mud the blockage shall be cleared from deep down within and cool, clean water and creativity shall rush forth again.
And so I write.
Perhaps what I wrote does not appeal to me anymore. It hurts so much to say but it could be the truth, so I must say it. Perhaps I have forced myself to write one thing and my heart is just not there.
Not at the moment, no.
Perhaps later.
Perhaps I need to come back with something entirely different. I need to explore some new lands, some new faces, and some new places.
I should follow my heart.
For it shall never lead me wrong.
~Sylvie
One could tap the pipe and hear the emptiness far down into the earth.
And that is where I am. The well is empty, but yet I write here again. Perhaps I hear water down there somewhere. Perhaps I hope in a rush of dust and mud the blockage shall be cleared from deep down within and cool, clean water and creativity shall rush forth again.
And so I write.
Perhaps what I wrote does not appeal to me anymore. It hurts so much to say but it could be the truth, so I must say it. Perhaps I have forced myself to write one thing and my heart is just not there.
Not at the moment, no.
Perhaps later.
Perhaps I need to come back with something entirely different. I need to explore some new lands, some new faces, and some new places.
I should follow my heart.
For it shall never lead me wrong.
~Sylvie
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