I feel my hands on the keyboard.
This is Limbo. The loss of anything to do or say, and yet traffic in my brain is unceasing. Too much speculation and yet nothing.
I feel my hands on the keyboard. I wait for the words. I want them out now, a reprieve that will lead me to slumber. I feel, I wait. Nothing. Nothing out of my busy, busy mind. And yet, the feeling that there is much to be said lingers on.
I lie awake. Thinking, thinking. I have it.
I sit up to write. I feel my hands on the keyboard. Nothing. Nothing still.