I feel, I can no longer write,
The threads of beautiful words no longer dwell within me.
I’m sitting in a quiet room, hoping for words to fill in the unoccupied space of my mind.
I look outside through the windowpane; it crafts the unclouded bright image to seem a tad dull.
I cannot feel the wind but I see it’s blowing to flutter the delicate leaves of the plants.
When words fail … I feel, I can no longer write,
Or am I writing louder when words fail me?