So why can’t
I think of anything to write
today when my
mind’s eye is so dynamic.Creative plots weave themselves with
twists and spirals, knots and dead ends,
which of course is a just a morbid pun.
But I can’t write about those.
The unknown factor
is what chills me most.
If there were a timeline, for example, or an itinerary, I could wrap my head around that
and free up the space that’s giving birth
to its own outcomes, few of which diminish
the tension in this headache behind my eye.
Or the thudding
in my chest.
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