8h
I sit at my chair
For hours on end
Staring at the blank paper
The story is at the tips of my fingers
The characters chatter in my mind, ready to take the stage
But to my horror
My words are gone and only the silence remains
For hours on end
Staring at the blank paper
The story is at the tips of my fingers
The characters chatter in my mind, ready to take the stage
But to my horror
My words are gone and only the silence remains
I used to be able to write stories easily, then I joined public school and there just wasn’t any time. On the first holiday break, I sat down and realised, I couldn’t call myself an author anymore.
