Sometimes writing is like the wind.
You can feel it on your skin, in your lungs.
It gives you some special form of life. But the times when
the right words just won’t come out; when your pen
(or keyboard) can’t quite spill out the exact sensation
that tingles and endears your mind, it’s also the same as the wind.
In that you can embrace it, you know it’s there,
but you can’t quite capture it. It boasts in its intangibility,
but you love it, you need it.
It keeps you sane and is a key affirmation that a very
specific and vital part of you still works.
Still is in operation.
I’m not entirely sure what I’m trying to say here,
but I’m sure some writers out there can relate.