but who can hold a memory

once upon a time, I knew how to write

how to story

...which isn't quite true because so much of the time it didn't feel like me writing a story, so much as the story writing through me

somewhere along the line I

(lost confidence?)
(put too much pressure on myself?)
(or on writing as the last Legit Thing I could be able to do?)

lost

the ability to Words

to Story

and sometimes I tell myself that all things are transitory

that this dry spell won't last forever

but

sometimes

especially lying in bed at night

sometimes I think that I'll never get it back

and that hurts way

too

much