The girl sighed. Her stories were becoming shorter. Few and far between. Thoughts no longer seemed to dance through her pen onto the page, but brooded and bubbled and boiled in the pit of her stomach, spitting and snarling and scarring her helpless brain. With no intention of inhabiting the pure white paper.
Her cloud kingdom still lay above in an ever changing sky. But she was no longer the keeper. She still watches and waits, for what is uncertain. But excitement and awe are words of the past. Soon perhaps even these glances will cease to exist.
The more she thinks, the more she feels. The more she feels, the more she thinks. And the cycle descends, a spiralling chaos. The girl wonders if this is the brink. But she doubts this too.
Where do I go from here?
YOU ARE READING
Words In My Head
PuisiThe thoughts and musings of no-one in particular. A collection of short-stories and poems.
