From my book.

I lifted my fingers to the keyboard but nothing came. I was blank like the screen that faced me. She had been so much a part of my life that i wasn't sure how to reclaim my writing without having her around. So there I sat half naked in a cold chair at 3 in the morning blankness staring into blankness. I don't know how long i sat there trying to figure out what i wanted, or more importantly what i needed to say. I needed resolution, but found it hard by myself. I needed rest but found that it was hard in coming, and when it finally did i never wanted to leave the bed again. I didn't care about the way i looked, or how my house looked, none of it seemed to matter without her. Now i was sitting staring at a blank page, i knew i needed to write something, something deep within me wanted to crawl its way out and do something but i wasn't sure quite what it was.