wandering, or is it wondering?

I'm not sure which it is, but i'm definately feeling it. Fleetingly happy again, as usual. i don't know, but i feel as though i wasn't created to smile. It feels so alien, it almost hurts and feels offensive somehow, to smile when i don't feel like doing so. Perhaps this is where obligation comes into play. But i don't know.

I desire not to write anymore; i feel as though all my words are spent. No matter how much i try to convince myself otherwise, something isn't right when i talk anymore. The voice sounds strangled, choked. I haven't a clue if that even makes sense. I seem to have lost my power with words. This is potentially a bad thing, seeing as how i dreamed of being a novelist.

Somehow, i've lost my desire to even finish my thought patterns here.