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Waiting for the words to come

I fly through my brain a millions miles an hour, pulling on threads looking for a start
The beginning of a story, the shape of sentence, a kernel of an idea to explore 


I find scraps, and half formed thoughts, 
I find boring conversations with myself 

I find the stuff that life is made of; the admin, the pain, the pleasure 
All mixed together 

I find the desire to curl up and go to sleep
To jump out of bed and head on adventure

All woven together, pulled in both directions or neither
I am coming and going all at once. 

So I will sit and wait
For the words will come when they want to
And there is no point in me rushing them. 

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