Maybe you've experienced this problem. Perhaps, I have found the right words for you as well.
I miss everything about writing. Words used to flow through my mind; phrases, ideas, thoughts. It only took my understanding of the English language to form those thoughts into a coherent passage. But, like any old hobby kept out of practice, it slowly began to fade. As soon as Time insisted on being in the hands of social media and the teenage lifestyle, my passion sank in priority. Years of cultivating the art of writing suddenly seemed to vanish from my life.
I had experienced this shutdown before, when Time once again took my love of reading. Hundreds of books lined my shelves, proof of the numerous hours spent dedicated to literature. Still now, they beckon me to retract from this period of abandonment I've found myself in. And yet I am fearful, fearful to heed their call. That if I were to open a novel, I wouldn't experience the same attachment that I had with books years ago. That I wouldn't immediately seep into the pages, barely conscious of my own surroundings, and experience the story first hand, like I could make possible before. I am afraid of disappointment.
Of course, both reading and writing are extremely rewarding. Perhaps not for every reader of my words, but for myself, and that kind of gratification creates a life-long impact, and an increasing determination to continue forward. It's an addiction, to say the least. Once begun, it becomes almost impossible to stop.
And the words have found their place, to truly justify how I feel.