Something has been bothering me for the past three months. It’s that I can’t think of anything to write. Usually I write about something that interests me. But these past few months have been nothing but blank sheets. I’ve been lying on my back waiting for inspiration to come leaking out of the cracks on the wall or the ones on my palms. I’ve attempted to write but words keep getting tangled up in the paper lines. For the first time in a long while, I can’t think of anything to write. Or find any reason to.
I would blame writer’s block but really it was only because I wasn’t passionate enough. I really don’t have any good excuse other than I was unmotivated and lazy. I tried though. For countless time I’ve attempted to write. I tried to look for things to write about in the places that I went and the people that I’ve met and even haven’t. But I didn’t exactly know what I wanted to find. I tried to write about the cracks on the wall. Not very interesting. I tried writing about politics. Not exactly my thing. I tried to write about coffee. I prefer drinking it really. And now I regret hating my 2 am thoughts cause my coffee has gone cold and I hate the irony of writing about not knowing what to write.