The End of an Age Brought About The Begging of Time

So this is normally where I share some form of writing that I would have spent the previous three days in a sleepless state perfecting till I’m either happy with it or finally reached breaking point and accepted what I’ve written for what it is.
But not this time.
I haven't been able to write anything for a while and I feel it may have been a season for me that’s come and gone. Words no longer float through my head the way they use to and inspiration is at an all time low. I’m sitting here, in a van full of people traveling through Brisbane city after a long day with an even longer night ahead… I’m attempting to piece together something that’s been on my heart for quite some time now but I fear I’m losing my ability to mold words and shape phrases into the poetic imagery displayed in my latter years.
It’s not writers block, no this is quite different. Its almost like my ability to write was all a dream I had one night in the dead of winter whilst I was snug under my warm covers. Now it seems i've woken to the piercing cold before the dream had a chance to finish and lay awake with my eyes clenched in a desperate attempt to beckon sleep back to my quarters.
I was once asked how I would pen my work and I simply replied "Take a triple espresso after four days without sleep, then fall in love with the next girl you see, and write."
But its been months now since sleep lasts visit and I’m losing all faith in coffees ability to open my mind. As for girls, well they come and go but none seem captivate my soul the way they use to.
So for now I’ll put the journal and pen down, close the blank word documents and place the dream of finishing my book on the shelf and just enjoy this silence that’s engulfed my mind. Until next time,

Hold Fast, Stay True, Take Care.

.. a a r ø n m a y ..

.To God Be The Glory. .Great Things He Has Done.