I can't express in any amount of words, be they many or few, just how much I want to create. I don't know what I want to create, be it a painting or a drawing, writing, anything, but I have this urge to just... let my heart pour into something. Something, maybe like a sketchbook or a word document. I want to be inspired just as much as I want to inspire.

When I sit down with my sketchbook in my lap, my headphones blaring and a pencil in my hand... I can't explain that feeling. I've lost myself to hours and hours before, simply drawing across a page, letting everything within my soul pour onto the paper and watch it absorb it and turn it into something beautiful. Or, I sit down to write with my laptop in my lap and my music blaring. It used to come out like a fountain; you never really know where the beginning started and the ending began, it was just a loop of words and phrases strung together to create something marvelous.

I used to feel so happy and at peace whenever I was creating anything. I was never impatient or critical. I didn't care what it looked like or sounded like, I just let it all come out, and I loved it.

And now, that inspiration is gone. Its left a strange hollowness within that I can neither explain or justify. I love to write, I love to make art, and yet... the ability to do either had vanished. The want, oh yes, the want to do it is still there. It practically sears my flesh with a want to come out and say to the world "HERE I AM!!!! LOOK! LOOK AT ME!"... and yet... I'm sitting here, with a blank Word document open, struggling to even start a sentence. My pencils and sketchbook are in my desk, pages ripped out in anger and frustration, empty.

Where did it go?