And I am feeling lost. Staring at my computer. The words have left, taken their ball and gone home. And here I sit and stare. This is nothing new. All writers know this. And I feel the push, the drive to create something brilliant and insecurity that simmers under the surface saying, “it will be crap.” And so I sit and stare. Lost in my circle. Create. I can’t. I have to. It’ll suck. Time slowly ticking. And I sit and stare. All the characters that I danced with yesterday, even during breakfast, have moved on with their day, gone to their jobs, met their lovers at seedy hotels, boarded airplanes for paradise. And I sit and stare. Tick tock goes the clock. Eyes fade and the screen is a blur of white like staring into the sun. Trying to fight time, like a boxer trying to get the last punch in before the bell. Trying to find inspiration, like an artist sees the world. I look over my outlines. Over my ideas. My list of projects. And nothing comes. Time has stopped like watching the clock on the last of day of school before summer vacation. Eternity has set in. My mind wanders like a leaf in the wind. My creative gone and forgotten like a prisoner on death row. So, I sit and stare. Force myself to wait. To be patient. Like a child waiting for mailman. Like a dog waiting for dinner. Like people waiting for the bus. I know it will come. I just have to wait. Patiently.