Why can't i write like i have done a million times before, My words would hit the papter with such emotions that were real. Could it be because my emotions have a hit a door that would be to painfull to open because i know i would have to deal with it?
I look out the window of the kitchen watching life pass by hoping something will inspire me the next time i write, but as i sit at the table, the words seem to disapear and the pen won't write,
so i set the pen down, close the book tight until the next time i write.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem