Quandry

A woman sits, staring at the blinking cursor on the computer screen. It’s waiting for her to begin, waiting to fly back and forth over the screen, dancing to the quiet tune of the keyboard as she pours out the words trapped in her heart.  Finally, she begins.

After a few short paragraphs, she shakes her head in sadness and frustration. “Too dangerous,” she whispers to the empty room.  An apology to cover her weakness. Reluctantly she relegates the newest entry to the long list in her draft pile that has been building for months. “Soon,” she promises herself, no longer sure if she can believe her own words.

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