Finger itching, twitching, purpose bursting free

She sits quietly, silently, pen poised above the page. Emptying her mind of herself, she begins by letting letters flow through her fingers.

Words take shape, paragraphs form. Ideas, pictures… a story.

The reason she exists is to be a vessel, a carrier of the word. Without this purpose her life is pointless.

So she sits, pen poised, waiting for the words to come. Fingers itching, sometimes twitching; anticipating their arrival. When they come, they freely flow, moving like a stream.

Stories swirl, gaining momentum, finally bursting free.



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