I'm looking back over my shoulder, just as I knew I would be. I feel as if I have left something behind… something I didn't mean to part with. Most likely, it is just an illusion conjured up by my reluctance to let go. Or an excuse for not looking ahead and focusing on what's to come. But I'm figuring there will be plenty of time for that down the road. 

The simple truth is, I can't sleep. My head is full of thoughts and yet unexpressed words and images. They feel important somehow… like something I should listen and pay attention to. So many times I have been so close to grasping fragments of whatever it is. So close that I can feel the onset of the familiar sense of being turned inside out and emptied that follows writing a piece I am deeply involved with. It is a gratifying feeling – or it would be if I had something to show for it. But so far, my thoughts remain too flighty and scattered…

I guess, some things cannot be rushed or forced … which is frustrating when my fingers are itching to write…


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