On writing.

Writing has always been my refuge. This might ring true way back in my college and highschool days. When I always took the time and the effort to put into words whatever emotion I take. But now it seems, that passion has left me. I no longer feel the fire to write. Could it be that the passion has abandoned me? or is it the other way around? Could it have been possible that I have lost that love for writing that was once has fueled my soul? If it is, could I revive it?

I often think that I have this poetic soul in me. That little person which usually reveals itself during times of profound sadness, longing happiness, sorrow, nostalgia, indifference, grief, bliss, anxiety, love. That little person which I usually find endearing, and most comfortable with. Well, perhaps because its also I. That little person who knows exactly what to feel and what words to use to enliven the feeling and emotion of that sacred moment. That little person who knows how to weave the seeming intricacy of the words that would perfectly the capture the vividness of that single moment. Where is that little person? Where could I find that little person? Is she hiding somewhere far? Or is she lost forever? or perhaps it's me she's looking for? Perhaps she's just here hiding in me?