Home Is Where The Heart Is.

I sit by the keyboard, completely drained of ideas. I feel my mind throbbing with the beat of my heart. I can feel the blood thumping through my veins, throbbing in my head.
A thought popped in the synapses of my brain, but then disappeared. The thought that would create a new line of creativity vanished in thin air, leaving no remnants.
Why can’t I think of anything to write?!
I pound my fists on the desk, just missing the keyboard.
Urg! This is so maddening!”

I close my eyes, and clear my mind. Inhaling fresh oxygen, and exhaling carbon dioxide. It was no use. My deviceful ideas were molded, buried under the thoughts of my uselessness.
If I can’t write, I can’t live. I sighed and messed up my hair in frustration.
My cheeks were flushed and I begged my mind to scour for any signs of existing hope.
Then, a flare shot off in my mind. The idea bloomed like a priming flower.
My fingers traipsed over the keys, unable to move fast enough.
I breathe relief as I see words on the screen.
I’m home again.

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