Word Vomit

Where have I gone? i don't really know. Why did I stop writing? I guess to get away from myself. Or perhaps from the self I thought I was and no longer wish to be. I stopped writing because it kind of bothered me. I lost my muse. I lost all feelings to write. I didn't stop writing for my sake but for the sake of writing: for the sake of undeserved words, meaningless words, pretentious words, all words. I wanted to get away because I was doing nothing more than holding up a facade. What I wrote, I assumed to feel, but never truly felt with the blisters and bruising of emotion. All that I wrote were speculations and assumptions of what I thought I felt or should have felt. I still feel the presence of these speculations, these hints of emotions, but their strength have faded. Now, life has fallen dull and I no longer feel the desire to write. I have no desire to write until I find my identity once again. I need to find that person with a heart that loves, aches, and hungers for life. That person has fled and all that is left is a shadow. A shadow that thinks of feelings, but no longer feels them. I can longer write until such a person returns. I have hope that such a person will return when the times comes, whenever that may be. Until then, perhaps these words deserve to be kept in reservation.