Sometimes, I feel an impossible, incurable longing to write, though I may have nothing to write about. I want simply to feel my pencil scroll across the page, to watch tiny scribbling letters ramble and flow.
Unfortunately, though, I am not blessed with the abounding creativity bestowed upon true writers. I am instead forced to remain content with the few lines of poetry that flit through my consciousness now and again. But never the satisfying length of an inspired novel--no, I will relish in and savor the few words my hand does convey.