Funny, how things work. 

I have much to say, And if I had the time, putting pen to paper, I'd let the ink from my worn pen tell all that I cannot adequately profess using the spoken word.

And yet, as I type all these and watch the words bleed into my computer screen, I find myself unexpectedly at a loss for words. 

I have so much to say, to tell, to unload, and yet I seem to have the worst case of writer's block. 

Not that I am much of a writer anyway.

It's been a while since I last wrote.

Dawn to dusk, dusk till dawn, and it has been, what, close to a year already?

 Life as I know it has changed dramatically. Confusion abound, life-changing decisions, profound decisions. A tale of dreams lived, and dreams set free. A cupboard full of regrets, and then some. And a chest-full of hopes, somewhere half-hidden from sight, waiting for the right key to reveal its treasures. A twinge of regret, but within it a grain of exhilaration. 

Perhaps this is life. 

Perhaps I shall finally comprehend it in its enormity, depth and beauty before long. 

Am I any closer to seeing it as it is? I think not.

Not when I still have much growing up to do, more things to see, more of me to be. 

One day soon, perhaps.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Doesn't it seem like such a lonely word?