good conversation.

alice brought up an interesting topic: what makes a writer?
it took me a while to wrap my head around my belief in that matter... but once i did, i realized that i do have that hole inside of me. sitting, waiting, hungry for... something.
i think i've gotten used to my blocks by now. i do notice them, but they don't knock me over anymore. it's more of a dull ache.
but to be honest, i have so many aches i often can't tell which is what.
there's the isolation and abandonment- that one's sharper than some.
there's the lost love- that one is long and painful, like a broken bone, constantly throbbing and reminding you of its presence.
there's the self dissatisfaction- it lies dormant, lets you think you've overcome it, and then suddenly floods throughout your entire system.
and finally, there's the blocked artist ache- the one that creeps over you slowly, causes fatigue and confusion, like a bad drug.

i'm sure there's more. there must be more. i have more aches and pains than i can count...
....funny, mum always called me a hypochondriac. but i think she finally understands the nature of my illnesses.

and even through this topic, my mind is wandering. happiness.... what is it, and do we ever fully appreciate it when we have it?

retrospectively, i'd do anything to have that happiness back.

where are you, kyle? why are you caught up in a lie? when will you realize where reality lies?
come back to the real world. come back to my world.
come back to me.