I’m not writing this for any reason.
I just wanted to feel my fingers dance across the keyboard.
I wanted to listen to the click, click, clicking of the keys as my tips press down. I wanted to watch as digital letters pop up on a brightly lit screen. I wanted to get angry when I miss spell a word or miss a punctuation, that I go a little crazy and slam against the back button. I just wanted to write and pretend that what I’m creating is magic. Feel the lightness in my head as thoughts empty out scattering across a white page. Laugh every time I try to sound out a word only to realize there’s no such thing. Spend several minutes browsing through synonyms looking for the word I really meant to write.
I just wanted to capture that feeling again. The one I fell in love with. Just for a moment, I want to let lose myself again and feel myself speed through a number of emotions only writing can bring to me in one sitting. The irritation, the exhilaration, the excitement, the joy, the sadness, the love and the hate. To second guess every word and syllable. To feel it all raging through me at a thousand words per a minute.
I want to hold onto this moment of freeness and escape from the chains of reality. I want to leave behind the feel of failing. In writing, I succeed and advance with each letter and page that scrolls by. I feel this overwhelming need to write but have not. Is it for the fear of failing in my greatest passion that I hold back? I hear the high praise. Yet doubt the sounds disbelieving in their faith as I am my own. Holding back the surge and closing it behind tight iron doors already bulging from the sheer amount. A dam waiting to burst and flow, sweeping away the hours. I feel it already breaking a creak around the weakened edges, yet I refuse to write beyond this bit of dribble. Has my love for writing diminished? I pray that it hasn’t for what else am I good at?