ah, scriptwriting.
The words avoid me.
Writer's block, you ask?
Nay, how can it be, with so many thoughts and mental visuals swimming in my mind?
Oh, to write a fictional story, with the absence of dialogue, how burden-less it sounds.
Yet, the rushes of time passes me not, as much as I bid it pass me by, but not too soon I pray.
Why should I wait, it cried.
I have never paused for men.
Neither have I sped up.
What makes ye so different,
that I should wait up?
Oh, but I have lines to write, and a script to compose
The person in my mind speakeths, but the words I do not hear
His lips tremble and murmur, but I discern no sound.
Please wait, I implore thee.
Allow me just this one chance.
But the door of time slams shut in my face
as it goes on its journey
at its own pace
and I am left alone
Disgraced.
