When the Words Feel Scarce...

I wonder when the words will run out….

Some days, the well of inspiration feels perilously dry. My fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitant, as if they’ve forgotten the dance of creation. 

I ponder what it would be like not to write…

Could I even be able to silence the inner call that urges me to spill my thoughts. Would it be freedom? Or a quiet betrayal of the self I’ve come to know?

I strain to write of the positive when the world is filled with hate…

The world these days doesn’t make it easy. I strain to write of the positive when the air is thick with hate, division, and noise. How do I craft hope when despair lurks so close? How do I find light when shadows seem to dominate?

I ask for Grace to guide my fingers so as to pen of hope and faith…

I beseech words that may act as lifelines. I long to pen something that reminds us—me, you, all of us—that there’s still beauty worth salvaging.

I struggle, for I am human, navigating the human race…

We are capable of so much good and also, so much evil. The division now clearer than ever.

Writing, for me, is an act solace, an act of defiance against the chaos—a way to wrestle meaning from the struggle. Even when the words feel scarce, they’re there, waiting. They always are.

So today, I write. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary. Because even in the strain, there’s hope. Because even in the struggle, there’s faith. And because, despite it all, the words haven’t run out yet.

yours in ink, ML