I began writing in vain, attempting to capture some of my feelings, catalogue my emotions, record my internal turmoil. Poetic images find themselves mangled before reaching the page, the wrong words defiling the purity of its blankness. Metaphors lost in the attempt to pen a feeling, feeling lost as words to describe it are sought, words lost as the pen writes too slow. The inability to successfully articulate what I am feeling is yet another feeling I can not put down on paper as I fluster trying to describe so you can understand. Seeing colors yet unnamed with no equal in nature represent emotions to my mind, but I can not find a name for them. Feelings in the heart pass by rapidly, like cars on a freeway, leaving a faint breeze the only proof that something was there. Unable to think about something I can not begin to grasp, I gasp for air inside. Drowning in the nothingness that is the product of my pathetic attempts at a realization that is over my head. Starting with the simplest concepts, distraught at the failure of those, hope vanishing as higher topics are thought of, I write about nothing.