Sometimes, there are just so much on my mind I want to simply spell everything out... yet, as I'm sitting, staring at the blank screen, I have nothing to say.
Certain things are too complicated; others too sensitive, or controversial, or at risk of putting others in trouble; there are those I feel reluctant to share under the semi-transparent cloak of anonymity. In short, I have so much, yet, nothing. It's the closet-full-of-clothes-and-nothing-to-wear situation again.
Perhaps it is more accurate to say that it isn't that I have nothing to say - it is that I have nothing I want to say.
Both life and work are too complicated for my liking at the moment. In the next, when things become more favourable, perhaps, I should find the the writer that I hope is still within me.