Writing

With a will of steel it is often hard to cover the wounds of writing.

You know, those stark and horrifying marks plastered painfully on the picture perfect piece of paper you worked so tirelessly on.

Those changes, blots of ink hiding the words which should not be there, which cannot be there.

You refrain from using white out to avoid seeming absent minded, blinded by the beauty of the image of the word and not the meaning, as if the way the word looked were more important than the way it fit in the work, or the way it sounded.

Your temper rises when you finally put your pen down only to realize too late that there is still more writing to be done. The anger quickly subsides to leave a sort of bliss. One, only we can understand.