my paintbrushes are brittle and my sketchbook sits stiffly in my second drawer

i've avoided my composition notebook and my keys and blank computer screens at 2:35 am

because of the emotional charge that each of those entail

not because of writers block

and not because of intro to writing due dates

but because of nostalgia

because i'm growing older and my heroes are becoming more human right in front of me

because my soul still hasn't said goodbye even though my mouth did four months ago

because art tells tells us too much about the five year old we wish we could be again

and writing begs us to feel

and sometimes,

sometimes that's the last thing we're willing to do