I felt it again tonight.
The need to write.
I felt it again. The feeling that no, I didn’t want to lay here and read this book. I didn’t want to read. I wanted to write.
It’s been so long since I’ve had this feeling, that I hardly know if I even have anything to say, but it doesn’t matter. I just need to write. I’d forgotten what muses felt like. The stream of consciousness, where my fingers fly and write at almost the precise moment I think. It’s elating, these words flying from my fingertips, the sound of the keyboard clicking and tapping as my thoughts spill out from my head into real live, written words instead of the phantom letters that float around in my skull. As easy as I breathe, the words now flow from my fingers. My words, my being, slipping from my fingers onto these simple keys, while the page in front of me lights up with ideas and imagination. I can hear the sound of my voice as I write, sounding more lyrical, and perhaps a bit more hopeful, than in real life.
It's been so long, it's almost foreign. The dam that cut off my mind from my fingers was getting more and more solid every day, and I had not almost, but truly had given up hope that it would ever come down. I thought it was fuzed to the inside of my mind, that the synapse had been snapped and could never find their way back together, no matter how much a prayed.
And then it happened. In the most peculiarly subtle and normal way, as if synapses simply connected together again and metaphoric dams, miles thick, vaporized every day. The stream of my consciousness reaches my fingers just fine now. My fingers no longer stand poised over the keys, my muscles aching, begging for the words in my mind to use them as a conduit to the keys of my computer.
I think thoughts, and as quickly as they come, my fingers tap and the thoughts show up as letters in Times New Roman font onto my computer screen, staring me back in the face.
It's magic,
I swear.
I couldn't be more delighted than if I won the lottery or fell in love or woke up fifty pounds lighter, or was given a lifetime supply of Goldfish crackers.
I can write again.
