Noise competes for our creative soul. Clarity is somewhere the echoes of a silent room.

I cannot find spare words. Clatter invades even with my eyes closed. When I open them again life shrieks to be cleaned up, cared for, ordered.

This noise competes for our creative soul. Clarity is somewhere the echoes of a silent room.

The bare pages have waited for me to trust myself with words again. First words spill like heart ache.

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