I Can’t Write this Morning

I can’t write this morning.  Writing suddenly seems a luxury, a shameful waste in the face of real necessity. My mood will change, I’m sure. I am fortunate, in that it always does. But maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe the escape of writing is an unearned respite from the real world.  Enough of this. I can’t write this morning.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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