Something to believe in

I am hit by an overwhelming desire to write; to create. Words, pictures, colours, lines, dots, stories, meaning. I feel as if something has lifted- inertia; the fear of creating. The desire came upon me suddenly as i walked from the research room to the library. A path i had walked hundreds of time before. I passed a girl with a takeaway coffee cup in her hand. She seemed to be wiping away tears discreetly. (There is a fire being ignited in my stomach.) I left the John Wooley buliding and emerged into a cloudy late afternoon. Droplets of rain began to fall. I make my way to the library and take the lift up to the seventh floor. It is dark and deserted. I grope in the dark looking for 779.93011. I turn the lights on. Suddenly, i realise that i'm in the photography section. Shelves and shelves of books on how to take photographs, how to manipulate them and how to read them. I feel like a part of me has come home. I am alone in the aisle (why is aisle spelt this way?). I sit and open books. Photograph after photograph of faces and landscapes. I can do this, i think to myself. Why am i not doing this, i ask myself. I leave with six books. I want to write my research. I want to to write. I want to take photographs. I want to draw. I want to paint. I want to let it out.