Words will not come. I sit here staring at the majority of the page: a daunting white space.
I have twenty-one, now twenty-three, words, and it is not enough.
I want it to fill up my vision, and I want it to do so now. Yet words will not come, and so I write.
Q, W, E, R, T, Y, U… The order of the keyboard has always been so strange to me. I could never come to fully understand why they should be placed in such a way.
On a sheet I have next to me, I scribble a heart, then another, then another… The page is filled with hearts, but the one that is significant is still not halfway filled.
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