I use to be full of vigor when it came to writing. Then with time,life, and many trials I have fallen short of anything close to it. I would write on anything I could as a kid rather it been in trees, rocks and even my dad’s tools. It could have been a new word I learned in school, or just a quick thought. I still imagine a desk in front of a window with a basket full of wadded up paper but a final copy of a finished work. Yet, the only thing that is on my desk is empty notebooks and new pens. My vigor soul is there waiting to be let out but the wall is almost impossible to break down.