The blank textbox is white, large, and empty. "How do I start?" I wonder. "What if it doesn't make sense?" I worry. "Should every story have a neat ending?"

Life isn't tidy, you know. It's all mixed up, full of details that don't always fit together. There's no moral to the story, and things mostly happen because they can. While I want to retrofit it all into a neat little narrative, I struggle to hold all the pieces in my mind.

But when my fingers touch the keyboard, they dance with the thoughts. Tap-tap-tap. I can't tell if the thought comes first or the word, but I know they work together, like best friends. Writing helps me think, and thinking helps me write.