Sometimes writing is a pleasant experience. Other times, it is quite painful. Tonight, for me, it is painful. 

The words are simply not coming. I’m grasping for ideas, but they continue to elude me. 

I’m clawing around in the dark for a lifeline, some relief, some inspiration, but all my desperate fingers can find are the empty corners of an empty room where ideas used to live.

And I know they are just words, but they are more than that. When they come to me, I am comforted as if by a dear friend. In their absence, however, I feel lost, frightened, and alone. 

Tonight, I feel as though I have been abandoned. I have nothing to say and no one to say it to. In this moment, this is all I have to offer, that I write anyway.