The poems just aren't coming like they do normally. Happiness, while blissful, is not strong enough in and of itself to drive the poems from my head. I suppose that as I use my poems to deal with sadness, anger, resentment, to drive the negative and depressed from within that no poems truly does signify happiness. But I want to write, to express how it is in my head and in my heart. I want to explain, to show just what he means to me, just how he makes me feel. I can write and scribble until paper runs out, but the depth, the raw underside just isn't there. The core that brings life and breath is missing. The words, although well written and eloquent, are only that, words. They can't leap up and take your head between their meaning. They can't move, they can't inspire, they can't even do my happiness justice.