Missing Things.

I'm sitting here, in the foodmakers, with my coffee watching people walking by. And I realize how I miss the writing. But it seems like I'm holden up all the time.

I can't write anymore. First, I don't know what to write about. Second, I don't even have the time to think about it, maybe except now.

The question I'm asking to myself at the moment is: Do I actually really need to write?

Why would I write if no one would ever read it. Would I write only for myself?

Did my need-to-write go away when I finished my previous blogpage?

24 jan.