Working my way Backwards

Here I am once more trying to collect enough thoughts to conjure up a satisfactory post. I had given up writing, or so i convince myself. I discontinued my blog. I felt I had nothing more to share. I felt shallow.
Crammed up there in obscure corners are wonders and hatred. They wish to rush out, out into the chaotic fumes of human conversations, into the star-struck imageries of hypocrisy. I don't wish to know why. All I know is I wish to write once more.
It has been over 2 years since I last had a complete conversation. Something is always missing. Even while I speak, I can see myself losing interest. I lose track of words, I can't think of them anymore. The best conversations are perhaps the ones with oneself. Suddenly I feel redundant. I know there is nothing beyond. And I once more settle for the dent in my chair.
I draw away from people. I avoid contact. I lock myself up in my room. But no one will ever wonder why. This is what I am, but it is not what makes me who I am.
I feel happy when I find someone who I relate to. Ecstatic. And again, it doesn't usually turn out the way I would like it to. I draw myself away from them too. I don't know what makes me do this. It may be the fear of finding out that the connection was not real or maybe I'm simply crazy.
It has been a long time since I actually thought in full sentences, by the end of a thought I would lose trail. I wasn't this lazy a freak before. I've stopped appreciating the smoothness of the leaves, the intoxicating wisps of winter breeze, the salinity of tears, the suppleness of clouds, the freezing sensation of fear, the tinge of sweetness in salt. I never feel the need to express emotions. They are fine wherever it is that they are.
The thing is, I don't know where to look for my emotions any more. They are there, somewhere within me. Lost under the heaps of stagnant hatred and aversion. I believe they are in there somewhere. And now, here, I strive to find them once more.