Now there is nothing to say. There was a time when the words flowed easily, when it all seemed so easy and the world was waiting there ready for you to hang all your words upon it.
Now, though, you look around it all and see it all as so glib, so easy, almost childlike in its innocence of how the world can effortlessly shrug off every word you try to hang on it, how it can twist, turn and distort everything you try to say about it for its own ends.
You are slowly coming to realise that this world is indifferent to you and all the words you try to hang on it. It exists out there, beyond your reach now and all your words fall, useless, in a heap at your feet, until all you have is silence and the wisdom that comes from seeing how you have failed to leave any trace of yourself here.
You also, though, have learned the wisdom that it doesn’t really matter. You are not alone. Very few people manage to leave a trace of themselves upon this world, and even fewer learnt how to live easily within the silence.
You wish too that you could learn to live in silence, but you still have this great big heap of words lying useless at your feet and still a little more time left to try once more. So, shrugging, you take up the pile of words once again and head out into the world.