Elusive.

For those who express themselves better in writing, what do we do when words escape us?

We write, still. Not knowing about what. We write about not knowing what to write about and not finding the appropriate words for the things we want to say. We push it, because it is the only thing we have inside that's burning. We can never let the fire of writing within be doused by anything--may it be failure, rejection, boredom, helplessness, hopelessness, loneliness, or depression.

We write, still. We crawl in the dark, searching for that streak of light that could lead us to some opening. Any opening. Any way out, to escape.

In time, the muse will be back. In time, words will find me again.