My words have left me.
I have heard about this phenomena, I’ve seen artist yammer about often enough but never understood the fatality of it until it stuck me one winter evening.
Nothing I wrote, nothing I created seem to make any sense.
I had the dreadful artist block.
First came denial, then came anger, and the finally, acceptance.
I spent my days moping and hoping against hope that my the will to write will come back to me.
Until, it was the very word mope which saved me and sparked my imagination with its dull, lazy existence.