The cursor blinks. I stare. It blinks.
I make some tea. I check the sink.
I rearrange my desk at noon,
I him old songs and relax by their tune.

The great idea is almost there.
I feel it, just beyond the air.
I open Notes. I write “The”. 
Then I Google whether cats feel Zen.

An hour passes. Maybe two.
I draft a text I'll never send to you.
I eat some cheese. I pace. I sigh.
I wonder why the Romans died.

Then suddenly! The words arrive!
The prose! The rhythm! I'm alive!
I type with fury, fire, and grace
and save it; in the wrong, lost place.

This post is a part of Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.