I’m losing my words. I fear that I am going mute. Not in the literal sense but my mental vocal chords are screaming for help. I’ve never been one who could express themselves with actions. My words speak louder and these days I’m lucky to get a whisper.

If you’ve learned to define yourself with words, when you lose them it’s a tragedy. I sit and I think and nothing comes out. No witty repartee or sarcasm, no lyrics or lines. Just hate. Anger and frustration consume not being able to find the things that I’ve lost. Those things that were once so dear to me. How am I me if I can’t even speak?

They say lost things are always in the last place that you look. I’ve dug through novels and poems swam through floods of tears from sad songs. Immersed myself in movies, painted, sewn, laughed, danced. I’m still looking. I haven’t found my last place yet. No creative match has ignited. No imagination has returned. I’ve lost my “muchness” I could say, to steal from someone else’s wise words and I need to get it back.

I’m off on my next big adventure. A scavenger hunt of sorts. My road to “me”. I don’t know where it will take me but I can only hope that it leads me to my lost things.