Previously in moments of dire need and depression, words have always been my saviour. When work got tough, when friends got difficult and when things got unbearable, I reached out to my trusty journal (and sometimes blog) and vented freely. I have not really had issues with the fact that someday someone will read this (I have a friend who used to be paarnoid about this)- If someone one day finds something that I have written that you don’t like, well, tough. That’s me. We can’t be nice all the time now, can we?
But lately words have failed me. Was it the largeness of changes happening all around? The fact that sometimes you need the actions to speak louder than words? Could it be there WERE no words? Was it that I no longer found life something to write about? Had I exhausted my quota of things to say and was now…wordless? Or maybe its the fact that there is so much in life right now, crammed to the edges, seeping out through the cracks, that words simply aren’t doing justice to that? Or maybe I’m just waiting for the right words. Haan that’s it, I think. I’m waiting for the right words.