Why can't I write about you?

It seems so long this one month fast paced I don’t know what to call thing has been going on. Convincing myself right now that it was more of a need, a mere profitable trade, or just to help me pass by those oh so boring and nothing to do days. I must admit that you lured me, not with your charms but just the way you are.  It’s an awakening that you have brought me; but it seems that cowardice has gotten into me, why can’t I write about you?

I can write about your little ways, your witty remarks and of your beautiful mind. I can write about the things we’ve shared, the food we ate, places we’ve gone to and of our lives’ philosophies. I can write about our craziness and how we met, our little adventures and of our favorite movies, but why can’t I write about you and how you make me feel?

All I know is that it feels good to be beside you though you keep your world a distance away from mine. You built your walls of defenses but slowly you destroyed mine; making me open up my thoughts, my past, and my dreams, making me reveal a part of me that I have never shared with anyone before. You conquered me, and soon this conquest had slowly permeated me.

I can’t write anything more though I really tried hard to. I really squeezed my brains out to decipher this mystery. What do I really feel? Am I now being the emotionally dyslexic I wanted to become when I thought nothing or no one is worth fighting for? Have I become comfortably numb? Words are usually easy to flow with emotions like happiness, pleasure, pain or bliss; they even say you should write about the things that trouble you to put your mind to rest. But what if I can’t write simply because I can’t feel? What has been this contagious disease that has gotten into me? I can’t write but this is the best I tried.