I want to write but when I sit down all that fills my paper is tears. The pen cuts deep. It skips past the words I need and leaves me alone with scribbled mess. No character comes to mine. No scene with the scent of nature or city. No story.
Just tear it up and toss it out. Another useless day. Glassy eyes with mirror reflection of failure. The fight is gone.
Work in progress….general impressions.