Blank Pages

I've really been itching to write. There is a story here, and there and much deeper. Each cell contains its own story that screaming out to be heard, only you can't hear it and I don't have the credentials to properly tell you the story.

I've been staring a lot at blank screens lately. I've been staring a lot at empty papers in front of me as well. Pen in my hand, and I keep saying to myself "I know I had something to tell, it was just at the tip of my tongue, where did it go?" Where did it go, indeed. This influx state of uncertainty, things happening, things not happening and the time moving so slowly that I dread mornings and the each passing moment.

One day, I woke up and realized how unhappy I have been at work, and how much I've let myself go, how much things have piled up and how long my to do list has gotten. All the things that are waiting for me to start, be decided on and get going...I wonder if I'll ever get to start any one of them at this point. My mind feels blank. I am so happy that S is here with me. If it wasn't for him and his meaningful, thoughtful conversations and his continuous encouragement, his understanding of life in general and me...I am not sure if I would have stayed as sane as I surprisingly still am.