AQE: Five Minutes

Five minutes to write.

The moments in-between this and that. Enough time for the Writer to uncap her pen or open up her laptop.

She knows it is important to get it in whenever is possible. And the words she plays with will not be picky with the time or place. That is what she thinks, softly speaking her piece to her pen and keyboard in hopes they can help.

But how can she just sit down a write?

She thinks about missing the right atmosphere. She craves right music. And dreams about the steaming cup of coffee, the perfect desk, and most comfortable chair.

Three mintues, now, before she must cap her pen and run to the next meeting.

The words come. But they feel very fragile on the page. She feels vulnerable.

The whole project feels absolutely meaningless just as this moment.

The words fall apart.

The thoughts move far away.

The clouds build.

The Writer feels her words

Distant

washed away

Blurred

In a mental downpour of cold rain

One Minute

While it all seems meaningless, it is perfect. The words are there, even in blankness. And they may be printed again. Or they will be torn into little squares.

Probably torn up.

Yeah, that option is the norm.

The words came, and the Writer spoke. Or the Writer spoke, so the words came.

It is both. Just as the atmosphere matters, but it does not determine what words come and go.

The pen or the clack of the keys collaborate to make the art the Writer craves to express. And they can do it everywhere, at any time, with coffee or without.

Thirty seconds now, and the Writer sits calm and the words spill feverishly out onto the page.

The words always count. They always matter, even in torn chunks lost in a gross carpet.

They gifts, wisps of the Writer’s shadow.

The Sand fueling her Dreams.

The words float like the petals and pollen carried through crisp air as the spring in the Northern hemisphere blossoms around the Writer.

Zero seconds. Time to take a walk.