Sawdust

Ever try to do something that you love so much that it hurts, but when you finally have time to indulge, it feels like your brain is made of lead, or your hands are scarecrow fingers, or your heart is a hollow drum?

Did you ever love doing something so much that when you feel like you can't, you end up hating it?

Did you ever love creating something so much that the thought of no one seeing or hearing or feeling what you do causes such an ache in your chest that all you want to do is tear it out and throw it away?

Have you ever felt such incredible remorse and longing and pain and joy that you think you're going mad with it, tearing your hair out batshit, and all you want is a moment of clear, emotionless silence to work out what it all means?

I feel like I have a head full of dry sawdust, and every once and a while it tickles my nose and when I sneeze I'm afraid that I lost an idea and I'll never get it back. And that thought triggers such an incredible panic that I don't know what to do with myself, so I fling open my laptop and stare at a blinking cursor, cursing myself out just so I can get a sentence down. ANYTHING.

Anything.