I'm onto something. I can't quite figure out where it came from. The sparks. It could be my lack of people to converse with before bed, or my continuous comparison of my life to that of those whose lives are made up in the first season of 'Gossip Girl'. I've pondered quite frequently on my inability to write my thoughts out on paper. My mind drew a constant blank that seemed to overstay it's welcome. Reflecting into my past works, I've noticed all was written with the same tone ; that same unfortunate mindset. The happiest were those that described the struggle to, in-fact, reach my acme point. Nonetheless, nothing was "happy enough". I've never had an issue with simply scratching a few ideas and setting up the perfect transitions. Yet, I couldn't figure out why. Why? Why was I stuck? I tried to dig as deep as possible, but the words spilled out on the paper lasted as long as the end of the sentence - which wasn't very long at all. What does this mean? What does this all mean? I can't remember the last time I've cried, nor is a single thing bothering me, although there probably should be. I'm fine. Everything is running so smoothly. All the parts in my life fell right into place the way I always wished it would. I get everything I want. No challenges and no obstacles stand in my way. Nothing that I can't take care of, at least. Everything plays such a predictable role ; a book I've read a thousand times. Almost as if I could even recite the words. Is this happiness? Am I finally at that state I've been longing for? Have I arrived? As predicted, this is exactly what I planned. With such happiness, why am I struggling on a topic to write about? Writing has been a love of mine since I can remember -- so where is it? I've only ever written through pain. With such happiness, why have I been longing to write some more. It has nothing to do with my future goals, but NOW. Why have I been craving to spill my thoughts while on a blank mind. Perhaps it isn't literary work I'm longing for. Perhaps it's the pain. The value of happiness depreciates as the struggle to receive it, lessens.