I sit and stare. Blank page with pen in hand, I wait. I imagine time and space. Love and loss. I wonder about life and its many roads. I utilize experience and allow for mistakes. Darkness and light have ample room each, to put forth their perspective. Doubt creeps in nearly all the time, I press on, and rely on hope.

When it comes to writing my only regret would be not listening to the call of the words when they come. The absolute music they make. It isn't without effort, but neither is it forced. And the melody when it arrives is pure magic, to my heart and soul.