It has taken two years (approximately) for me to bring myself to paper again. 
It often feels as though I have very little left to say. 
The truth is the last few years, though vibrant at times and a deep plunge into the abyss at others, have left me feeling rather lonely. Not only externally, but also within myself. 
It seems I have spent so much time attempting to smother the relentless conversation rumbling within me, that one day I woke up as if I were still asleep. The world pushed me away, and I pushed back, and back, and back until there was nothing left in my line of sight. 
And my heart, my soul, my tongue seemed to atrophy. 
Numb, and alone, and then more numb. 
Maybe I rotted in my slumber. 
Maybe I amputated more and more from my flesh, till I left nothing of substance to sustain.  
Alone with myself at night I wonder, could I find myself again? Am I capable of being the person I killed off in the loneliness? 
There was once a time where I had so much more to say. I could write you a book, I could tell you stories, I could put into words the abstract. But with so much coming out of me, I have never replenished, and now I have nothing to say. 

I don't know that anyone actually reads my blog. Maybe this too is me shouting at the abyss.