Something Is Missing

I feel like my poetic writing is dead. I used to be able to wax poetic about my surroundings and the smell of the air and... I'm stuck looking around for the right word but nothing follows that 'and'.

It is like the words have gone away. There are no words to grasp. They have run away from me and then won't let themselves be captured by my pen. The words are free. But not freely flowing on to my paper. Free to run away. Free to roam the world, not confined to the page anymore. But because of this flight my pages remain blank and unloved.

What remains is an empty sorrow. It is hollow and alone. Colors. Colors might still present themselves to me in a vivid array of madness.

The words contain no order. No sense rests within them unless it be a sense of unease.

Something is missing. It's not just the words that have run away. Something is missing.

Do you hear the silence? Birds are chirping, the wind is stirring the trees, a mechanical whirring sound. But the silence is profound. Months of death. The words aren't escaping into their ownness. They are dying. They are dying from their lack. They have no where to go and no one to walk beside. They sit in the land of no use awaiting the return. But they sit in solitude not knowing their neighbors. Not knowing what to do, because a word alone can't make sense without the other pieces around it. It might have the best location of all but with no neighbors to love, it lives a meaningless life of solitude. But alone it sits. Waiting for the life to breathe into it.

Waiting for the breath of lives.

Clean room

I need to clean my room. Even though I've done a few trips recently I'm actually quite proud of how quickly I unpacked my suitcase after the trips. My laundry is clean, it's just waiting for me to fold it and put it away. Other things I brought with me to camp (like my pile of sharpies) are just sitting on my desk. It's really not that hard to put it away, right? Why are they still sitting there?

Once my room is clean I will feel happier with life. I'll be able to focus on writing again. And I'm gonna get my paints out and paint too. I'm not sure if I'll do oil or water color. Oil is just such a pain to clean up, but the results are pretty satisfying. Or there's acrylic, which is therapeutic - it is so healing to push paint around on canvas - but the results are always meh. I also need to play ukulele! I didn't bring my uke to the shore with me so I haven't played in over a week which is no good!

I woke up too early. I've already been awake for two hours, and I have two hours until church. I want to go back to sleep but I can't. So I will turn on some music and clean my room.