As I stare at the pen in my hand I know not from where The Scribe shall emerge, the life I live is one symbolic of an endless melody of dreams and hopes, love notes, cards, doodles, letters, scratches, scribbles, sentiments unspoken and overall the story of writers block. I hear my breath inside, it is heavy and labored and I set down my pen now for I am afraid to write more.
-SJ
-SJ
