I feel that a part of me has died.. or is dying.

I have not written anything sensible and endearing for a couple of months now. Writing had always been my faithful means of letting my soul wander free - when I want to open up things that I can't say to living things. Written words had always been my way of expression. Take that away from me and you might as well have taken my ability to breathe at the same time.

Thoughts are always present: how I would've liked to talk about how exasperating this "hello-I-am-seeking-a-job" is; or how I absolutely loved and seemingly will continue to love the old classic sitcom Friends (I've just recently finished marathon-ing the whole series and it was one of the best things I did for a long time - Rachel, Monica, Phoebe, Joey, Chandler and Ross taught me things and made me laugh in a way I'd never forget). I could write about how healthy I have been feeling this past few weeks (my friends tricked me into going to the gym regularly and it has been, sort of, nice). I can choose to spill the mixed-up emotions I frequently feel when I think about my future; I could have written about Christmas and how it was going. Or take myself on an amusing ride and write about how I feel I am finally, finally, thank God - moving on. From her. But the thing is, I kind of.. can't.

What's the matter with me? I oftentimes open this place thinking I'd write something to soothe my self, but then I - what is the word - struggle? to find the right words to explain things running through my mind.

A guess.

Maybe I have chosen to be quiet for so long now and never letting anyone in - again, that I am, little by little, forgetting how to open up, again. And I am aware of the truth that I can't do that to myself. I cannot and should not take written words away from me, even if I wanted to.

Write more, Lorelei. It's all you have. It's the only thing no one can take away from you. And I know you can't live without it.