the delight of writing.

the words come,
the words go,
it just never seems to end,
this thing that I call the writing process,
knowing that it can be the most frustrating thing that I will ever try and do,
but is one of the few things in my life,
that I have been told that I was ever any good at.

the words come,
the words go,
and it just never seems to end.
around and around I go,
with no end,
and no beginning.
wishful thinking is what makes me write,
knowing that it is one of the few things in my life that makes any sense.
snatching thoughts,
words,
ideas,
out of the ether,
and putting them together,
to make them sing the song of my heart.