A well loved keyboard

will have letters faded

by overuse.

.

The keyboard of my imagination

is sparkling,

new,

glistening fresh keys

mocking me.

.

My

head is a

loading screen,

rainbow spinning wheel

lagging… creativity…? motivation…?

.

Each tick-tock of the clock

should be a click-clack

of computer keys.

.

Still…

.

My fingers are still…

.

Still nothing comes…

.

.

.

.

.

… not yet.