Maybe i'm not made for marriage

I lost the wonder of writing. My world was filled with similes and deep meanings. I saw the deep of every puddle, the significance of dust and the power of a baby's cry to its mother. The control the eyes have over everything. I was sure that one day they'll find these dusty words. One day after the world had shooken me so hard that i fell in to that wooden bin. Only after that day will they find these dusty words. Only this time i won't claim possession over them...no because by then they will no longer be mine, but the dust.