I miss writing like I never thought I would. I loved the way words swirled in my mind wanting to come out. The turn of phrase that lurked, smirked and then escaped before I could rethink it into something meaningless. I miss being able to express, explore and escape through words. Stories waiting to be told, poems, feelings and emotions waiting to be described. I miss all of them.And this aching need at the pit of my stomach, insistent, I miss being able to melt that.There was once a compulsion to read, write and experience blogs and bloggers. I miss that too.
In fact I miss being myself. And sometimes I miss what I have not become yet.