Another day another reverie

Did my words dry up

Did the thoughts finally shrink and shrivel up so much that they refuse to bleed on paper anymore

Do I not drink from the fountain of experiences any longer

Or perhaps not bring my own cup to the party to fill it to its brim 

Do I no longer crave for more

Is this what being satiated mean

No more yearning

Is this also a death perhaps

Not the dramatic bloody one

But a more dignified complacent quiet one

or do I perhaps judge too harshly

Myself and my abilities

As always my worst critic

Twilight whistling past the window

No more broken panes of glass

But this time a sturdy wooden window

Painted brickred with white curtains framing her

Small plant tubs line up on the edge

Some days a little bird comes by to visit me

It doesn't sing of romance and life

But of lovely meals and romanticising the mundanes

I miss my fervour and our youthful wonder

But this fine day nothing irks me more than the lost words 

I should have filled the pages of that pretty diary of yours

Did we lose it to the turns of time

Or maybe it is saved still for our future memories

#reverie