I really don’t know what to write.
I really want to write.
With just that, I can say I am satisfied but I know there is more to come.
The temptation.
I am tempted to commit an act of literature but not sure how to attack.
It may be a vicious encounter as I am frustrating by the word.
This isn’t what I really want to say. I am wasting – just wasting.
But these are words I realize.
Though these are words, I realize there still remains that tiny knot of tangled unsatisfaction and separation of me a few months ago when I loved to write.
Maybe that was when topics mattered.
Maybe topics don’t matter.
It is the temptation that is vicariously written through us.
Since I am tempted
I am okay.