dry river

i am writing in empty words again. pretensions and stage acts cannot fill in the hollowness within. it is like writing on sand, leaving no tracks as soon as the waves reach the shore. ephemeral, momentary, short-living, fleeting, insignificant now and forever be forgotten in oblivion. i am dying to write for someone for i have been writing for myself most of the time. (this one has nothing to do with this entry.)

i feel like deserted by ideas, not expressions, by soul, not words.

have i forgotten how to write? no.
i just ran out of reason.