all dried up

At night my mind starts to wander to places that I dare not think of. Sometimes places I wish it wouldn’t go. So long ago the ink from my pen would just flow without thought really, to off landish places. There was no end, no end of the map, no end to the uncharted territory, no worlds end. I was always a novel with pages to be filled. Now, they seem to be so few and far in-between. So few adventures of the mind to be had. Could it be that the ink wells of my mind are running out of ink just like my pen? Has my imagination reached its limits just like margins on the page? Has it told all the wonderful tales, adventures and fantasies that it has to hold, or is it just waiting to find that right moment that I have yet to stumble upon. That moment that sparks my pen alight with insight. To make it go without end on a tale that sets the pages a fire with passions and desires so hot it scorches the reader.

Or am I just dried up…………………….