There is so much in this head of mine, waiting to be written.
I don’t write for admiration, although I’ll take it if it comes. I don’t write to impress, although I’m glad when I manage it. I don’t write for the reader, although I cringe at the thought of not having one.
I write because what’s in my head wants to come out. But somewhere between my brain and my fingers lies a bottleneck of time and the confused emotions tied in with the rampaging thoughts.
There are times where I literally am on the verge of tears when I realize that I will die without having written everything I wanted to write.