It’s not that I don’t have things to say. Oh, things, I have plenty of them.

It’s not that I don’t have thoughts I made. I thought so hard I can barely see.

It’s that I don’t want to do it.

You know.

Trying to avoid interjections.

Binding sentences together in order to make sense.

Removing useless and lazy expressions not providing any value to the style.

It’s a real job. Writing. Every day.

The worst way to do it is when you are empty.

End of the day.

Hot shower done.

You can feel the slight lightness of your spirit.

It was heavy just a few hours before.

It’s the delta, the gap, the leap.

It’s too much living an intense life and desiring the intensity never to end.

It could also be disrespectful, for your body, for your mind, for your soul.

Your soul. Ah!

You see, I still have the strength to make you laugh.

C’mon, take me as I am tonight.

I don’t want to write.