Twelve Hours

She wondered what the day would be like when she would finally just sit there one day, and write. All day. Without a distraction. Without a writer's block. Just sit, for twelve hours a day, and write. She wondered if it would ever happen, that day of progress she longed for so much. Naturally, it was up to her. The task lied within her hands and she was the only one stopping herself from that, but it would be a difficult thing to pull off, no doubt. There was always something lagging, something tugging at that wishful desire. And when the day came, perhaps it would make it easier on every time after that. Perhaps the meaning of leaving blood on the typewriter keys and ink in those veins would begin to sink in.

[134 words]