Something Lost

I haven't posted in quite some time and I must admit that somewhere the desire to write, like much other things, seems to be waining and spotty at best. So I'm sitting and wondering what happened and what fed the desire in the past... Was it the notoriety that kept the flame of creativity lit or was it because I had walled in so many of my emotions that I experienced this massive outbreak when presented the opportunity to release? It was like my mind felt free and so comfortable on white sheets under the constraints of blue lines and red margins. Margins I seldom reach but would break every chance I got and blue lines of conformity I struggled to stay between. It was like a place where I could tear shit up and no one would be the wiser. It was a place where I could express emotion in not just the words chosen but how they were written down and again no one would be the wiser. See paper was my place break free and feel most like myself without worrying about the opinions of others. I could scream and be free of judgement and stares... I could curse myself and others just to vent my frustrations... I could share my secrets, even the ones I was scared to share with myself. Now it seems as if I've turned into my own worst critic or maybe I've just exhausted that resource and it was merely a fad in my life. Something to cherish in the moment before it passed me by, sadly I didn't really cherish it rather than relish in it because I never fathomed it wouldn't be here forever. But how does something like writing leave a person behind...