Open and let it out. Those words, little marks, twists and turns and stops and corners. It doesn’t matter what, or why, or where. It’s not scheduled or forced. Music pours into ears, connections fire, hearts ache. A need. We can’t help it. No judgement, no reviews. Nothing matters except the words we pour out onto the screen or onto the paper. Notebooks, keyboards, cereal packets, coloured pages. All the time in the world. Infinite space, the limitless mind. Creating stories or those who may exist, somewhere, somehow. Orchestrating lives, of those around us and those we wish we were. Those we’re glad we aren’t. The pen builds up and cuts down. Brings hope and slashes dreams. Inspires and disgusts. Raw, experience. Things we’ve known, strength we’ve built and gathered and stored up behind those strong gates inside, until we choose this time to draw upon that experience and then this. Open and let it out. Write.