The Mind’s Perspiration

After a long day at work, 
I was eager to have my alone time.
I said to myself “It’s not yet that late.” 
I decided to write.
So I brewed my own coffee,
Took out my pen and paper,
Stretched, 
Sat on my comfy chair.
The room was quiet,
My mind was clear.
I tasted my coffee, bitter sweet as usual.
Five minutes had passed and nothing. 
I was beginning to feel anxious.
There was this constant stare down between me and the paper.
Trying to gather my thoughts,
I glared deeply.
A strenuous effort to hear what my mind have to say.
I peeked at my watch.
It had already struck past twelve. 
I was apprehensive.
I took another sip.
I knew that I needed to get my shut eye. 
Tomorrow is another busy day.
then a mouthful of coffee dived into my throat.
Hoping something else would come out.
Desperate,
I wrote down the first thing my mind had pondered about.
Little did I notice, I was starting to write.
The voice inside me keeps on whispering.
I wrote as fast as I could. The words just kept coming at me,
like I was being shot with an array of thoughts.
Happy, contented and the satisfied, 
I had finished thirty one days of writing. 
Realizing it now, 
It does not matter what I write about. 
What matters is that I have written. 
I had formed a habit. 
Someday, this habit may be molded again into something else.
Something bigger
Perhaps, an epicenter to a greater life.

So, what did I write about?
 You’ve actually just finished reading it.

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