When the words cut off, my lips quiver with the thought of what else, I can say. As I pour my heart out all over this blank screen, I can't help but wonder what purpose I have for doing this. I don't even know what feelings I stir up with these words, these thoughts, these emotions. Just a knotted mess within this empty head, I follow one string, but it is stuck in a loop.

I want to tell stories and not just some any old story, but these wondrous worlds that only I can see. I end up being overwhelmed thinking about this, because these measly words cannot capture the beauty. It is so trying at times to find the right thing to say to convey these feelings. I wonder if there will ever be words to put perfectly into writing, something so far I do in vain.

I hear so many words of praise, so many uplifting words of encouragement. Telling me, how brilliant I am or how clever I can be and how my stories capture and hold their attention. Yet, these words are fleeting in a way that, half of those who praise me are gone, or they no longer comment and I know that even those who read my stuff now won't be there forever. Am I just painting myself into an illusionary corner, trapped within my own thoughts? Do I even understand my own thoughts fully enough to place them into a story to share with others?

Then, there are times I see others with their amazing stories and their seemingly perfect thoughts. I wonder if they ever feel as I do now. I wonder if they can relate to this lost feeling of being stuck in a void. Are they unable to move, unable to think straight? Are they mindlessly piecing together something they cannot fully understand? Is it any less than it is a personal masterpiece?

There are certain others who even rose above the expectations and received a special addition to their pride. After sifting through the rest, they received a title, a prize after selection. A recommended read and an editor's pick also increases their stature. I am no more envious as the next. I have the wish one day to find one of my own to claim such a title. I know it won't be anytime soon. These thick clouds clogging my mind cause me to be unable to see the clarity of my words. I wonder if any of those talented few has ever written through this mental fog. Everyone decides to make it one of the best.

I want to tell a story of my life, in a way, I do. If you pay close attention, you can find the bits and pieces and string them together. In another way, I cannot, simply because my mind doesn't work that way. I can write about these marvelous worlds filling it with interesting characters, but never my own story.

Merely for the fact, I have yet a story to tell.