• Too often, it seems, she writes to the demands of others. With each word passes another sigh, a pause, trying to find the next. Hesitation marks stain her page as second-guessing morphs into third and fourth guesses, when her final decision can only be described as mediocre at best.
    For a brief moment, her words flow easier. With the fading blue lines as guide, she doesn't feel quite so alone. But as fleeting as a skipping heart beat upon the glance of a first crush, inspiration dissipates, and she is left alone with her words and her anxieties that she cannot bring herself to share. It was in that moment of inspiration where misery found its company in agony.
    Left more torn than before, hesitation returns in anticipation of that next rush of enlightenment. A raw lower lip shows the bite marks of indecisiveness, and, like anxiety, indecisiveness has come to stay. The two frolic and make a temporary home of her soul, joyously awaiting the moment she gives up and turns over in her bed,
    They both know she won't, so they kick their feet up for the day. Always happy to extend their stay in her mind and soul. She sighs, setting her pen down for the afternoon.
    At least they don't have her heart.