Something to say.

I miss having something to say.

My brain races ahead of me and I struggle to catch up. Words come out–one here, one there. They’re linked, somehow. Coherent thoughts get mixed together, tossed, jumbled, poured out.

I used to be able to concentrate. I used to be able to create. I used to paint pictures with words; I used to capture moments in time; I used to manipulate emotions in text.