So why can’t I think of anything to writetoday 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.