Out of the fog of worry and panic, I begin anew. I take time to walk and clear my head, to lift my flute and play for what seems like an eternity. My fingers fly over the keys as I practice scales and scale studies, old songs from years past that bring good memories. When I get tired or my jaw gets sore, I write. Like I am doing now. Sometimes it's just meaningless ramblings, but more often it's ideas for stories or drawings. If I can't write or draw, I will turn my music on and let it carry me away into an imagined perfect world.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts
PoetryBasically a beautiful mess of poetic and... erm, decidedly less so writing. Beware of the occasional full-on speech.
