Father Time

Practice makes perfect. Well Will Smith told me to keep practicing until I’m really good at what I do. He quoted some study that mentioned some numbers about how many hours I needed to work to really begin a journey towards perfection.

I don’t have that time.

I stopped writing to focus on school. You know, to give myself the chance to do even better than I did last semester. To reach my goals and make myself proud. I put writing on the back burner to allow myself a few extra minutes to relax after days that blur into one another. A mixture of work and school. Each requiring more time than I had originally calculated. Math has never been my strongest subject.

I forgot how to write. I can still strong words together as though the necklace will fit but they’re more like strings for a guitar. I wind them too tight. They pop. I’ve lost my voice. I don’t even know what I sound like anymore. Each attempt is put in the closest in a box under the floorboard. They won’t be found for years.

My hours of practice no longer seem to matter so I have to start again. Write every day. Write at work. Day dream of new ways to explain the same feelings of love, indifference, and hate. Meet with myself, asking if I’m alright with this direction.

Just write again.
I don’t have time for perfection but they say if you really enjoy something you’ll make time.

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