I miss being a writer. I miss the person that I was when I was writing all the time. I miss having that need to.write, the compulsion, that made me sit down and scribble notes in every spare moment.
I miss the joy that I got from writing. I used to sit there for hours on end, just writing, not caring about anything else until I got too hungry or too cramped and I was forced to stop. It wasn’t about word count our how many hours I put into working, just about the joy of letting the story flow onto the page as it came to life in my mind.
I miss that feeling of total exhaustion and exhilaration after I finished writing, and feeling excited about the next time that I could get to write.
I miss having my mind filled with stories and characters just waiting to come out.
I miss the person that I was when I was a writer. I had something that I was always working on and towards. I was always creating. I was always looking at the world like a writer, trying to find new words, phrases, ideas, emotions, and sensations around me. I miss how alive I felt.
I wish that I could capture that again. Why is it so hard to find the words to say what I mean now? Why has my writing become a chore? I don’t know why I let it get taken away from me. It’s harder to recapture than I thought.
Sometimes I think I’m healing and I have found my voice again, but I get so tired. I shouldn’t be tired.I should be energized.
Please, Muse, come back to me.