i miss...

i miss when i could still write, and when i still did write, achingly, unstoppably, rushing home late at night unaware of my legs pumping out fifteen miles and my lids drooping over dry eyes, working out words and phrases and ecstatic syntax in my head, rewriting and rehearsing and repeating again and again until i could get to a pen or a keyboard and solidify it for a while.

now i just seem to get distracted and then fall asleep. and maybe there's something to be said for more of living than recording, but oh! i do miss fulfilling this wordly obsession.