Sitting in an uncomfortable—but familiar—wooden chair at Starbucks staring at a blank page.
Waiting for the perfect sentence to appear in my mind; the torture of knowing what you want to say but struggling to find the most precise delivery. Like walking up to a broken water fountain completely dehydrated, desperate to quench your thirst.
Failed attempts of hurling words onto my page in the hopes that something would stick has left me in despair.
Write every day. That’s my objective, which usually leads to (at least) a sliver of creativity. Alas, today I’m waiting; sometimes creativity requires walking away.
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