I remember those days, as if they were all framed and hung upon my wall. It was all so seemingly easy. There was no thought, it just 'was'. Press the pen to paper and suddenly I was out to sea. I was afloat with inspirations sweet caress in my sails. I drank midnight stars and breathed in the sweetest morning rain. I remember when apathy, empathy, and sympathy sang in endless circles around me. They liked to taunt my heart and whisper shameful things into my ears. My brain ran circles around my clumsy hands. So many poetic beginnings begging to have their life breathed unto white lined paper. Time always threatened to asphyxiate any lingering idea.

I have box-filled reminders of those days. They smell of bittersweet emotion. My heart sinks as I realize how I miss those effortless days. Before my ink dried and was replaced with coarse sand. My poetic cup was tied to an apathetic anchor and dropped into the sea of oblivion.

I wait, longing to feel inspiration scream through my veins-- as it once did. But hours, became days, turned to months, and are now years. I fear what once was, will never be again. The poet I once new, is buried somewhere deep within the walls of my heart.

You took every last word with you as you crossed those tracks. Seemingly forever gone, just as you.