And then it happens.

When you sit in front of an empty screen, a blank space, and you struggle to find the words, only to find out, a few more times and they leave you. And you hope that they won’t be leaving you forever. Not this time. Not now.

Then you wait. And when it doesn’t work, at least from your perspective brought about by the urgency, you try purge them out. Screw Bukowski for a while. I need to make time. You have to let the trash out, you justify.

Things have to be done for them to happen. And so my search begins – again – today. I find the words, try to fill out the blank space even if some of them of them won’t make sense. I’ll scribble on sheets, empty and filled. Scribble until the pages bleed.


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