Failure?

Every night, before I close my eyes, I can see a movie flickering in the front. You, with your sweet smile and your enigmatic personality, are the lead guy. On top of that, I see you going through rough troubles in your life: drugs, abuse, loss. And I'm the heroine. Well, it's the fantasized version of me. Impeccable yet brewed with a hint of clumsiness and secrets. I see this movie unwinding every night before I sleep. I can feel the words, sentences, phrases, dripping down my lips. But when I sit in front of my laptop, ready to type out this story, I go blank. My palette of colors runs out and I'm left with white. Emptiness. I hate the feeling. I'd always thought that words and writing would be the best way of expression - especially for me. I was wrong. The real me is bottled inside my head, trying to screw the lid open, to come out. But it just won't.

[Anyone have tips for motivation? Or cures for writer's block?]