Zaderot

Hunched over a desk in the middle of the night. My only friend, a simple desk light I do not draw, only write. My only tool, a worn pencil. I write with nothing in mind. I have everything now, all I need is time. 14 pages, maybe more. Written for scholars to adore. Alas, the light flickers out. A new idea comes to mind.

I am lost within this emptiness that surrounds me staring into the sun hoping one day I will be able to breathe again. Yet, my chest is compressed and my eyes swollen with tears, I try screaming and nothing is there for anyone to hear. Inside there is a voice telling me I am still the person I have always been, but somehow it seems that I have done nothing but change.  Feeling like a lost soul, feeling as if there is no longer a way I can feel like I am whole. Where is the one who made my dreams come true, who put the sparkle in my eyes and made me feel like I had a life? Where walks this one who has part of me, the part from which makes me w