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Write
Ideas come and go at the speed of thought, one comes, this one like a bruise. I write it down anyway, I look back down and it glares at me from behind the neat bars of my notebook. I scratch it off.
An idea comes, this one is different, unique, out of the box, a godsend. But no, I think, It would never work, it is too dangerous, too… different
I sigh and glance around the room, the sound of pencils scratching on paper like soft whispers, each person putting their ideas on paper, giving their thoughts form, the sunlight streaming through the window, music playing softly in the background. I twirl my pencil in my fingers, sometimes dropping it, sometimes not.
I try to think, but I just keep coming back to that idea, like a dog to its owner. Unconsciously, I start making words and forming them into coherent sentences. I try to continue thinking of ideas, but my thoughts keep straying to that idea, that wild, impossible, incredible idea.
I sigh, and look around the room, seeing all the different people, each working, putting their ideas on paper, soft whispers in the air. Determined, I look back down to my paper, and write.
Putting the sentences onto paper, sometimes scratching off words, or even whole sentences, always thinking, writing, improving. I barely think, barely notice my hand moving across the paper, words moving from my head to the paper as soon as they come, letters, words and sentences flying from my pencil to form this idea into a concrete, solid work, a masterpiece.
I stop a moment and stare down at my paper, my work, my masterpiece, and smile, my work is finished, I set my pencil down, rubbing my aching hand. I feel like I had just run a marathon, an intense mental marathon run on a road paved of words, sentences and stanzas, all come from that one, impossible idea, like a tree from a seed.

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