Dry

While I do not entirely believe in writer’s block because one can always write, I am feeling that long sadness again … that feeling of complete voids all through me. When this happens it feels like a long road in front of me … with nothing else … just a road. But miles and miles away I see a speck of red light like neon, my destination. But I feel too tired for the voyage, too apathetic for it. I just want it to be there again … so I miss it like a lost lover, a lost kitten. I long for the nights that blend together, when the moonglow and the deeply heated sun blend like stretched taffy … when I go go go because I have so much to say and so much to be. When I am grand … or at least believe that.

But now it is that road, that lonely road. Maybe I can hitchhike … risk everything.