Day in and day out, we type away,
No guarantee that thoughts will remain.
We hold onto them with great haste,
Praying that they don’t slip away.

Hoping, dreaming, that one day will be the end,
That we reach resolution with the stories in our heads.
And yet…

A day like that will never come,
As writers are found by characters,
Whose stories wish to be sung.

We swim through their lives in an endless Nile,
Gifted with the pain of needing to tell the world,
Or we are left to ache, knowing the truth,
As the stories bunch up in our guts and puke.

So we must breathe out their feelings,
Their ambitions and goals.
We must exhale all that they know.

Little do we know,
That the stories we tell,
Are only but the feelings we wish to suppress.
They are only, but the feelings, we wish to suppress.

So write hard.
Write fast.
Life will not last.
But our characters will find eternity in our words,
And that is how our feelings finally voyage into the world.