My [LIFE] as I knew it

I haven't written anything in a while. I really don't know the reason why...but the other night, I had a dream that I had the same problem and in the dream, it was really troubling me. But the only thing different, is that in the dream, I actually started writing. And it was something awesome and meaningful...something I've never written before. Like a different type and structure of writing with a rhythm. Not rap, but rhythm. I woke up from the dream and was really disappointed to realize that it was nothing but a dream.

Still haven't written anything. So I thought I'd revisit you, and see if anything can come out of me, before I completely forget. My plans of revisiting didn't work. I still haven't written anything...meaningful, of substance...like I used to. I still can't remember what I wanted to say and how I feel. As if I didn't write anything at all. Maybe that's why. I'm typing, not writing.

Even my journal is hiding...sleeping...in a box along with my useless, unnecessary books that I hated reading but loved possessing because I felt smarter and more important having them there. It's just taking up space but the pages are left untouched and unmarked by the ink that would dry up because of how much I wrote on my journal with my sloppy-thinking-outlloud-gotta-write-this-down-idea-so-I-don't-give-a-flying-fuck-if-it's-sloppy handwriting. SO far from my typical "nice" writing.

I miss writing. It was my release. It helped me cope. It helped me vent. It helped me breathe through times of trouble. Now I don't know what to do. I don't even have writing anymore. It almost feels like I don't have anything anymore.