I’m sitting here staring. Blank page. The words aren’t coming.
If only they’d make themselves known like the rain that so heavily pounds my rooftop.
“But they do,” an inner voice gently nudges.
They do. My thoughts swirl about in my head, so many all at once that I can’t grasp a single one.
And so, the words never come. Because sometimes words simply aren’t good enough.
There are things that are far too complex. Or perhaps it’s just that I do not understand my thoughts, or myself, well enough to translate them into English.
I continue to sip on my tea. It’s getting cold now. I suppose it’s best that I put some water on.
The rain continues to beat on the roof, and I hear it splashing on the street outside as cars go by.
My thoughts may not want to jump from my head to the page, but they’re busy enough jumping about in my head that I know they must be working toward something.