The greatest frustration is to be without words to express what you are feeling. I have a dictionary full of words. I have a thesaurus full of words. All the words in the world are at my fingertips. I can find any word I want with the turn of a few pages or the click of a few keys. Yet I am at a loss for how to put them together to say what I feel.

That is maybe not quite true. I can say words that would get the point across. I might even be able to say them prettily or with some sense of emotion. But that is not enough. I want them to be beautiful words, words that make you feel the beauty of the rose alone among the weeds. Not just picture it, but feel it. And not just feel it, but have it surround you, wrap you up and hold you until the feeling becomes part of you, so embedded in you that it will always be with you.

But for hours I sit staring and no words form. I tell myself it is because there are no words to convey that. Language is limited. Words are not big enough, strong enough, deep enough.

But the truth is it is the writer, not the words. It is my inadequacy that fails, not the words themselves. I am unable to manipulate them properly.

It is impossible to describe perfection with mediocrity.