There she sat- Wait, present tense.
There she sits. On her computer writing away- That doesn't sound good. Let me try this,
On her computer composing yet another- That sounds too 9th century.
On her computer creating what she hopes to be her next best piece. That's better.
As minutes pass without her knowledge- Eh, I don't like that.
Time passes like a gentle breeze. She feels it but she doesn't pay attention. Poetic.
She's blind to the world. It's just her and her words. Doing this she's in bliss- That sounds oddly suggestive...
This is what makes her happy. And even though she does this for herself she fears. Fears that it won't be good enough. She fears she's wasting her time here. Time she can never get back.
This is what makes me happy. And even though I do this for myself I fear. Fear that it won't be good enough. I fear I'm wasting my time here. Time I can never get back.
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts to Books I'll Never Write
SonstigesThis is just a place where I'll be dumping my vent writing or pieces from stories that appear in my head that I, just like the title says, will never write. Feel free to read, this isn't private. I'm putting it here because I'm willing to share. But...
