Yesterday, I was inspired to write this. Yesterday, I had something beautiful to say. Yesterday, I waxed poetic.
I was a prophetic genius.
Today, I am trying to be who I was yesterday. I am holding on to some vague idea that I had for a minute or two, and I am trying to express it in a phrase that I can understand again.
So now I’m sitting here willing words to flow from my fingers, as prose needs just a chain of thought—free flowing, masses of ideas pouring over the grounds, but instead, I have nothing.