I really need to put time aside to write. For this is what I love: to write. Poetry, prose, anything. Leaving the world behind closed door, and opening my inner windows. There will be panoramas of voluptuous hills carpeted by the most lustrous grasses, tree-tops misted by sunlight waving in soft breeze where the scent of flowers and Spring waft. There will be tranquility.
The fingers on these keys will wane their magic. With the words imported as potions and spells. A door will be closed, for windows to be opened.