I remember the days when I was able to write. I could tell a story of nothing, create pearl necklaces out of words. I wrote short stories, poems and I even tried some novels (but never had the persistence to finish one of them), I filled tons of pages with my daily thoughts (those diaries still sleep in one of my drawers).
It was not one day waking up and realizing that I couldn’t write anymore, but a very subtle process. My writing frequency decreased, I had to force myself. I always thought this would go by but I never found back. Today I rarely write anything artistic, I’ve even neglected my journal.
Photography came into my life and made me forget what I’ve lost but from time to time I realize that it can’t replace the writing completely. I have to plan taking the kind of pictures I love taking because I need a model, which means that I depend on others. (Actually I should try self portraits once again.)
But my biggest fear is that it could happen again, that I would loose my way of expressing myself and being creative. Everything seems to be different now, but how can I know?