I have nothing to say…
Small germs of ideas occasionally flash like dying stars – and then that’s what they do.
I feel inchoate, rudimentary, as if I am still growing into something.
Perhaps it’s a time to hunker down and wait and see, and have some kind of faith that inspiration will strike eventually.
I imagine I will emerge, grown into my potential, pink and naked and shivering but with a hazy sparkle of pale intensity.
Then, I will have something to say.
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