i think i’ve lost it.

my fingers used to fly. the clickity-clack of the keys making a rhythm as my hands try to keep up with my thoughts. my sentiments and emotions had words that aptly explained what i meant without needing to press shift+f7.

i  didn’t need to down a glass of wine, light an aroma candle, or strip down to my bare undies to get into the mood. i didn’t need much ruminating or a life-altering experience to have reason to do it. i used to just do it because i felt like–and could–do it.

i wonder, is it because i lack practice? or is it because i’ve run out of experiences? my days seem so structured there’s no time for spontaneity or adventure. or, is it rather that i thirst no more for spontaneity or adventure?

but how i still love the written word. and how i would love to still to be able to just sit, think, feel, and write.