Motions

I stare at the keyboard, willing myself to write, challenging myself to see if words can still flow. I tell myself that I used to be able to write for myself and that those words meant liberation, from feelings bottled up, from nagging thoughts still vague,. But then stop again. And the silent night becomes silent again.

I blackmail me to write. Change my tack. Move from challenge to threat. That if I do not write now, I will never write again. That if I do not form my words, I lose forever the person I used to be, that someone who found herself through words.

But where are those words? Are they gone with the people that used to be my life? Have they taken away me, leaving behind a person I can barely talk to-someone hollow, mechanical and unsatisfied at the end of every day?

I live around people. Everyday I smile at them. I crib to them. I hear them. But I rarely ever speak to them, listen to them. I rarely ever have anyone speaking to me, listening to me. Everyone goes through the motions. Life is about living at the moment, and trust me it is not the most engaging way to live.

Growing up, what did I expect? I look back and think of all the things, all the people and all the images I wanted to be.... and I realise that all I wanted was this angst to leave me forever. But it continues, even if I have changed to become yet another mindless being, thinking and feeling mindless little things.

What is it that I am looking for?