The book in my travelling bag

I have turned the pages of this book a lot of times. I have thought of writing a lot of things. There is this fibre of imagination I can’t put into words. I try, I try very hard to come up with something significant out of that elusive strand of thought and I even put together a few random words, but never get around to finishing it. Every day I sit alone near the window staring up at the vast blue sky for that stroke of genius to hit me and help me to write what I have never been able to express through my limited writing skills. But as always I find myself struggling for words even from the very beginning. Every time I start there is this annoying feeling which keeps cropping up to say that there is a better word to depict the emotion I want to convey, and I end up feeling no word or sentence is good enough. Is it just me or every writer however amateur or established have this feeling?? And just like that I stop what I had started and close the book like the boundless times previous to this.