The Words

I love words. I have adored reading and writing since I first understood the concept. My mother says that as a baby, I had all my books memorized, and knew if someone tried to skip pages on me, and could recite them verbatim, and would pretend that I was reading. I began my journalling when I was four. But something has changed. I still love words, love the words, love stories, love descriptions of impossible things like emotions and experiences, but it seems as though I can no longer conjure and create with my beloved words. I feel as though I have failed, as though I claimed, "Language, I love you!" and then abandoned it. It makes me sad, and it makes me ache a little, and I just want it back. I miss the connections with people that words can bring, and I miss spending hours analyzing and dissecting, and I miss intellectual combat, and I miss feeling satisfied with my mind. Oh, I just miss it. I can no longer pour it all out onto a page. I need a person to be a reflection of myself, because I cannot see me accurately.