If this is torture...

It's been a month.

...And in this month, a thousand thoughts have raced their way through my head, screaming, Write me, write me.

...And a thousand thoughts have remained unwritten, a thousand posts unfinished.

... A thousand words, just not enough.

I used to "write it out" when something was bothering me. Out of my melodramatic angst usually emerged something beautiful, some miraculous combination of words that could be bourne only from my many troubles.

I used to be good when I was crying, brilliant when my heart was broken.

I didn't know heartbroken.

... And now that I do, the words just won't show up.

... And I seem to hate them just as much as I hate everything else lately.

Pathetic.