late one night...

A white sheet of papers lying in front of me. Pencil’s poised and in my hand to set these damned words free. Ten minutes later… nothing comes to pass. The sheet op paper’s taunting me, nerves are cracked shards of glass. Hands are shaking, eyes bloodshot. I know what I want to say. Yet words elude and evade my grasp. This can go on for days. Until that final, blessed hour when pen and paper meet. The quest for expression is a winding road of which the outcome is so sweet.