My words have left me. I feel emptied and drained. The walls of this well are no longer moist with feeling and are already beginning to ache with the pain of drying. I wish the words would come back. They seem the be the most constant of remedies. the most effective of therapies. But I am an empty well that nobody visits anymore. Nobody visits you when you are no longer nourishing. Nobody wants to travel only to find emptiness; scream into you, only to hear their own voice echo off your aching walls. But I am going to be patient. My walls are not weak. They’re stone-strong and bruised. maybe I needed this draining, this emptying. maybe in time rose-scented water will fill up this body and every word I speak will be floral and beautiful, my scent kissing each passing cheek.