I sat down at my desk 10 PM in the night, turned on the lamp as the soft yellow tinted light spread through the room. I placed a pen in my hand and set out to write. But what seemed to have always been easy proved itself to be one of the most difficult tasks I’ve ever had to do. I could not fabricate whatever it was that no longer existed. The spark of light, The inspiration, The muse. In some ways, the silence and the emptiness that echoed in my mind was the mourning of the loss. The loss of emotion and the loss of thinking.It was as if Hollowness..in its own way…replaced brain matter. 

I wonder which one would be worse….

Making my heart bleed from infallible but cruel rationalities of the brain?

Or making my heart cry from the incessant emptiness and hollowness that the brain seems to only be capable of providing for the heart to feel?