Have a tendency to make me wonder if I'll ever regain the beauty and honesty my writing once held.
At one point in my life, my writing dripped with beauty and truth and never failed to either bring a smile to my face or a tear to my eye.
Now, I don't even have writing to look upon.
Let alone cry, ponder and remember fond memories over.
As I listen to Adele sing what seems to be coming from my heart so effortlessly, I wonder if I will ever regain that passion and power in my writing and if so, when will I be as good as I once was?
Isn't that something past middle-agers normally say? As good as I once was...
This girl is cracking into the what could be again's a little early in her life.
But it's necessary.
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