I wonder if I have lost all ability to impress. My words fall short of the meaning I am hoping to express; falling, in the end, to their utter and bitter demise. I keep blocking parts of me out, wondering what others will think and how still others will react. It’s hard to sound sincere that way, when your stuttering breaks up otherwise eloquent patterns of speech, maybe I myself am moved too much by the thoughts I think, and therefore am unable to convey them. Surely if you thought the way I did, you too would be moved in such a manner.

It is surely unfortunate.

I miss the days when I was able to move mountains with my words, break down walls and let shining lights show through, taking those who needed those mountains to be moved and those walls to be broken down, to new amazing heights, a feeling that was far beyond what words could ever describe. Now I am stuck, drowning in a puddle of everything I have said before. New words and phrases do occasionally show themselves within my brain, but I lock them somewhere in a chamber behind my eyes. I am not totally sure why. Have I already said what needs to be said? Is it time for me to just move on and let the mountains rest where they have come to stay? Have I myself become so bland that such beauty will stand unnoticed and unrecognized by me? Should I leave such a horizon untouched for the rest of my days?

For the sake of my soul, I hope the answer is no. I hope that the door that is locked will come swinging open in the weeks ahead, filling the valleys of this horizon with words so fluid and smooth, any creator would be impressed, any one could be calmed and contented by the sight of them, the sound of them.

Or maybe it is just me, have I grown utterly barbaric in the past months?

I no longer possess the words to justify my actions. Actions of such intensity certainly would require words to back them up. Am I afraid? I feel I maybe letting down the ones that matter most, and maybe a justification isn’t needed, maybe all of this is already understood by someone else more important than me. Still I feel I am serving those a great injustice. They shall receive the recognition that my heart already gives them.

And why do when questions surface am I left scrambling for the words that once came so easily to me? Why can’t I make an existence seem worthwhile? How come I can’t instill courage and strength of heart that would make dreams of a life better than this ensue? Such questions are better answered by my heart. There the answers are clear, and not muddled by my worldly consciousness, a place where I know what’s right is right, and it is not a matter of someone else’s opinion. Truly the beauty still resides there.

Let it be known that this, this power of speech, of love, of compassion, I still possess. On the way of becoming a master of a trade one must learn to adapt, but most importantly one must learn to be unafraid.

Some of you speak of heartbreak, but I assure you, some will never know it the way I do. The heartbreaker is never the other person.