It lays there reluctantly staring up at me. I pick it up and drop it back down again. I perform this ritual atleast a dozen times but to no avail. The truth of the matter is that I’ve lost the will to write, I lack the motivation and euphoria I once had to pick up a pen and let it magically glide on paper telling tales of the heart.We’ve told many stories together, some of joy, some of pain and others of the wonderful glories of the world and yet here we are in utter silence... My mind is as blank as the plain piece of paper before me and yet I still have this urge to write, about what I don’t know. I have the “writer’s block” they say.."I need inspiration". But from where do I unearth this inspiration? What inspires one to write?Fear slowly creeps in..I have goosebumps from the chill it brings with it. The fear of never being able to write again..never being able to express myself again. It is an awful feeling one I cannot bear... I stare at my pen willing it to rise up and give me the inspiration I need to write wonders, but alas, nothing..It just lays there reminding me of my failure.I cast it aside and disregard it..It is no longer a part of me....and paper before me continues to remain blank..