…will I write and rewrite my first blog post.

I wonder whether by writing a short little ditty, maybe it’ll help turn my one (and a bit) into three blog posts.

How do we do it? How do we get past that feeling that no-one would give a shit about what thoughts are floating around your head to putting it onto paper. I guess the fact that I feel that way really destines me to be nothing but someone who dreams of a better idea…

The amber tip glows in the windows glare as she inhales. Smoke bounces off the cold, thin glass as her fingers return to tap tap tap away at the keyboard. Hair scrunched back in an elastic, loose ends frame her face. Ash tapped in a cold coffee mug. Lipstick smudges. A caramelised coffee dribble.

I used to think this picture to be so very romantic. The image of a writer.

What don’t you see though? The corner of the monitor turned ochre with the tar that got away. The fingernails yellowing beneath the chipped scarlet nail polish. The gentle wheeze as the air fights to get into the corners of her lungs that have survived until now. The throaty gurgle protesting each breath.

But still. I can’t help but wonder whether I would have kept on writing if I hadn’t stopped.