I stare at the screen and the cursor blinks. Impatient little thing. Like a finger drum or a pen click loud, in my ear it rings. Damn you words, all jumbled tight, round and round they go. I wait for inspiration to flood o’er the bricks and flow.
Passion: spinning, swelling, sparkling. Renewed, backed with inspiration, it fills my soul and heart. I live on words, my fingers fly. My mind is full. Scribbles everywhere around all things, posted to walls, scribbled on mail, notebooks swell their precious pages once blank stained with ink. It comes at night, it comes in day, it fills my cup and plate. My soul is too awake to pay attention to the needs of the flesh.
