Writing thoughts

I sit down each day at my desk. I look at my pencil, still sharpened from misuse, and wonder if I will ever again put it to the white sheet of paper and make it dance. Instead, now I push a button and watch the screen on my computer come to life. The applications and folders used consistently sitting to the left side of the screen. I look down at the black keyboard in front of me and I already know I will not look at the keys as I begin to write. Not the way I would watch the words flow as if from my fingers.

I watch the letters pop up on the screen in front of me and they are all the same. There is not definition of style, no personality flowing onto it. I suppose I could always change the font, make it different than the normal. But…it still doesn’t have the same feeling as seeing your own handwriting flowing from pen or pencil onto the pristine paper in front of you. And even as I sit and ponder this, I know that writing something for very long will only make my hand cramp. It is out of shape I suppose one could say. Merely an existence of what it was.

At least, however, the words that are created on this screen are mine. They give way to thoughts, ideas, and emotions that belong to me. For that, I am grateful. My pristine paper is now painted on the screen before me. My words, I pray still hold the power to paint pictures in clear detail. To entrance the reader, holding their mind captive. I enjoy the ability to place a reader into a story, as if the words pull them deeper and deeper until it is them living it.

So, I ponder what to write. I let the words flow from myself onto the screen. Hoping that it still has the same ability as when it flows from my hand. I begin my journey, never knowing what will become of it, where it will lead or how it will end. I sit at my desk, open the blank page, and wait for the words to flow…