Wishing...

Hmm... what to do... I do not know.

I wish my writing was as creative as it used to be. At least in my opinion it was. =D Now it's just boring and simple. Letters, words, void originality. If lyrics were inspiring to write for yourself, I would have written a novel of words, genius, and learning. However, this is not so. I am left with the ordinary. The lacking of interest, and I can't do more. I can't muster up within myself what was felt before. I had understood life, and why I ask these questions, but now, I don't. I can't figure it out, and I can't write it out. Understand? Of course you don't! I don't have a topic, and I stray from my thesis, if I even had one. Is this even about writing? I doubt it... It's about LIFE. I want to be this way. I can't even reveal this to my head, because it's only my heart that can make sense of it all. Does the sun shine even when I ask it not to? YES! IT DOES! So when, may I ask, will the sun shine of my heart? When, dare I inquire, will this all make sense? Why did this happen, just as my heart was ready to move out? And in the insignificance of it all, I find my feet stopped. I cannot move until I know.... but then where's my faith? But I need some sort of instruction, right? Dare, puke, and I move, light pending, upon the future. Help me? Enlighten me.

You explore my meaning.