I miss baking, and riding my bike,
and reading for an entire day at a time,
and writing and planning and drawing out character maps and outlining subplots and connecting them to series arcs,
and having poetry force itself out of me like water through an overworked dam,
I miss building and organizing my photo albums like holding memories in my hands,
and going for walks for no reason besides the beauty of the day
or the joy of the birds' songs,
I miss singing with as much natural abandon as the birds,
I miss seeing beautiful things and stopping to savor it without knowing I've done so,
I miss not having to fill the silence,
and my yearning to learn...
I haven't found the power yet to grab these things I used to love and pull them back into my life,
but one would think that feeling the ache of their absence for the first time in years is something like progress.
