The Issue
This creative silence in my mind makes no sense. My words fail to appear, even as I think them, they vanish. I am left alone with the emptiness of the page before me. These white dunes of manuscript are barren,  devoid of their native, ink inhabitants. It is perplexing and perverse that my words should scatter to the winds with such ease when I require them to sharpen my mind and articulate my…
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