Writing can be a monster. It can lurk behind the thin life we walk. It can become so scary. A parrot you neglect. It can be your friend, but every day you ignore its calls for attention the chances double that it will bite when you reach out to pet it.
Why haven't you been writing? Because by the time I realized I wasn't it became too scary. It's not my pet at all, just some wild thing in my room. But there's this wild thing in my room. There's no ignoring that. So I sit at the opposite wall. Let it smell my smell. Let it get used to me. So we can be friends again.