Blank.

The page I've been starring at for hours.

I flex and reposition my fingers, waiting for the words to come. The words that will explode inside me if they don't get out. I wait for it to flow through my fingers like...mud.

No no idoit, mud doesn't flow. Mud eventually solidifies. It dries and cracks .

Maybe I should try speaking the words.

Silence.

My throat is thick with mud. My vocal chords dry and cracked. These words will never come out. I need a fresh rain, a tusanmi.

Give me movement and life again. Give me the chance for sound.