The button on the lamp by my bed is worn with the constant flipping on and off throughout the night. The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on my wall never glow longer than a few minutes before the lamp's light overcomes the dim shine. The pen that sits on my nightstand is dry--used up by the constant scribbling of my sleepy mind.
When the night comes, that is when the words come. When the darkness settles, that is when my mind is awake. Letters to words, words to sentences, sentences to stories. The words take over my fingers and cause my hand to cramp as I struggle to write down all that comes in the few hours of quiet.
But I don't mind. I don't mind the bags under my eyes from late night brainstorms. I don't mind the sloppy handwriting of one half asleep. And why would I? In the morning, I have pages and pages of plots, of characters, of epiphanies, of memories.
I write because I love to. I write to cause emotion. I write to bring meaning and change.
And I will never run out of things to write about.
My inspiration is all around me.
From the sky filled with clouds to it being littered with stars. From the water of the sea to a puddle. From the green of a garden to the wild forests and fields of nature.
My inspiration is all around me.
From chalked "starry night" on my wall to the posters that hang from putty.
From the art supplies in the corner, to the dusty bookshelf sagging under the weight of the pages.
My inspiration is all around me.
So yes, the button on the lamp by my bed may be worn from flipping it on and off throughout the night. But that is because I have inspiration, a cause to put my pen to paper and write the words that bring meaning.
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