Still stuck on the same song:

Right now, I am sitting alone in a king sized bed in a prepaid hotel room with the room temperature dropping to mid-60s, my preferred temperature for sleeping. I am waiting for creativity to strike me like it suddenly does when I am glazed over by spoken words and deliberate gestures. The thoughts of the day, the week, the month, the year stream over my mind like wind passing…just passing through.

And now, I finally stand on my own. Without outside influence. Without prompt. Without fear. So what will I do when I stand on a cliff or is it steps? Or is it the crossroads? Is it the path to a house with a candle in the window or the green lantern?

I saw the car drive out toward the horizon, waters lapping along the shore, making the rocks become the sand we see centuries from now.

I can only do this by myself.