I forget sometimes that writing is work because I often sit a play at it, letting the words fall from on high when they want to.  Writing is a pleasure for me.  A comfort.  A constant in a life that, though it has been happy, is often tumultuous.

So sometimes one emotion, one thought, one thing will overwhelm me momentarily and I forget that I can make the words come if I need to.  That they aren’t always the boss.  Most of the time when I write it’s because I can’t help myself.  There’s a certain thought or turn of phrase on my mind pressing to get out.  Longing to be put on paper or the vastness of the Internet.

Today is not one of those days.  Sure I have words longing to be written, strings of them in fact.  It comes out as poetry making little sense to anyone else but taming that flame, my need to create something.  But it doesn’t lend well to posting here.  Some things are not meant to be shared with one person or a million.

And so I make myself write for a change, instead of letting the words force my hand.  For today that’s enough.