Writer’s block

These days I write freely in my journal. Pages and pages of handwritten notes. Thoughts, feelings, black ink fill my notebook. The notebook lies obscure amidst my all my other books showing no signs of holding so many thoughts.
An ordinary notebook and one wouldn’t give it a second glance. Yet for me, it is like those fairytale books. The kind they showed in the cartoons I watched as a kid. Books that contain magic, a golden glow emerges from the pages as the book is opened. That is how I see my journal.
While I do write a lot there, my blog has been taking a backseat. I haven’t felt the poetry itch in a long time. Travelling has awakened the poet in me. Long drives, beaches and hikes have dropped beautiful lines in my train of thoughts. But for some reason I refused to catch them and jot them down. Instead, I enjoyed the fleeting moment while a short poem took form somewhere in my head, as I sat there on a hilltop watching waves crash into the rocks, the ocean spread all across, meeting the sky and becoming on vast blue expanse of nothingness.
The poem that took form also disintegrated slowly and I left it there with the winds while I retreated to my car. I don’t regret that I didn’t hold on to those words. They will give come back to me some day.
Another day spent by the ocean will awaken one more poem and maybe that day I will grab it and not let go. I will then have a poem to write here. Some words to share, a picture to paint in all your minds. For after all that is who I am, a painter of words.

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