Some weeks the words flow like a flowing river, cutting through their surroundings. Leaving an everlasting impression. The roar of water echoing throughout the landscape.
Other weeks, its almost a trickle. Barely seen, where every tiny drop counts but never seems to reach the level you need. The sound of silence surrounding you.
This week has been the latter.
Looking at a blank page and waiting for the words to slowly appear is not ideal but I force myself to stay. To write. The words appear, sometimes slowly and painfully, but they appear.