My hands are getting itchy. Aching for something they used to do. Creating ideas, shouting opinions and grabbing attention.
And so. Now. I write.
I don’t know how to start writing. I’m used to taking these days. I rarely give. Writing is like giving away something I have. It’s like sharing my favorite toy when I was young. It’s hard. But when you’re used to it, will get easier somehow.
And so I hope I’ll be used to it, soon enough