The crippling nagling feeling held his fingers captive. They were behind the bars of his mental dearth. In a barren moment they stared at the keyboard, each facing a new letter and trying to define a moment in words. Not spoken. Written.
This was his today and his tomorrow reflecting what he learnt yesterday, but never believed. The days rolled with the bouncy motion of a rotating hexagon. Dadum, darum, datum, over and over the days turned with midnight, morning, afternoon, evening, night, and a dream bouncing off the floor. This was his writer’s block.