Fly along, fingers, tell me a story

Fly along, fingers, tell me a story about warriors discovering their enemies are not their enemies. Tell me a story about princesses trained to slay dragons who discover that dragons have souls. Tell me a story about conflicts exposed as concoctions manufactured by the real villains, the get-rich-quick charlatans with their smarmy smiles and empty promises.

Tell me what you need to tell me, happy fingers flying along because what needs to be said is more important than the temporary discomfort, because what needs to be said transcends the cramps and the aches. There are universal truths to be told, like “nothing is universal, we are all unique, we are not a mass — or masses — yearning to be free, we break the huddle and find a way to reach the goal together, unified for the moment but with different reasons to be a unit.”

What am I saying? What am I doing? I find the answer to those questions by grasping the pen and letting the thoughts flow. I find the answer by writing and writing, trying this thought and that thought on for size until I find the one that fits. And if not finding it today, then picking up the pen again later, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, until an answer arrives and perhaps a purpose. And perhaps the purpose is to keep writing, keep seeking, keep pushing, keep on as long as there is strength to lift a pen.

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