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Blühende Fantasie, wo bist du?

January 2, 2009

So, where are you then? I remember dreamy days, days where I’d dream of living in London, living a life there, the what I termed “perfect” life. I can’t remember anymore, I can’t write anymore. I write here, but this isn’t what I used to write. I used to write stories, I could play them out inside my head. Now, there’s nothing. I can’t summon any ideas up for anything, and even if I do, I don’t have the energy to just keep writing.  I can write for hours about this: depression, how I feel. But it’s not exactly the same, is it?

I’m even beginning to struggle with writing here. My drafts bin is full of bits and pieces; incomprehensible ideas that I can’t express rightly outside my brain. What happens next, what will be taken away from me this time?

(Blühende Fantasie, wo bist du?= Flourishing imagination, where are you? My German teacher wrote that I have a ‘Blühende Fantasie’ and it’s getting a bit hard to live up to that!)

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