Water, Fire, Air, Earth

My thoughts fill empty pages like water. Saturated in thought, I my hand can barely keep pace. As they spread across the flat surface like a flood, I feel like I cannot look down. I cannot sink. Or my thoughts will burn to a crisp before my pencil touches the page. Smothered in heat, letters fade like smoke.The strike of a match. A flash of light. A thought. A blaze of heat that sears across the page, once more. My words are the lantern in my hand, illuminating line after line. I feel like my words are lost at sea. My inspiration submerged, a treasure I can’t dive far enough to see. Or that I am lost at sea. My words on some faraway island. I must travel, inward, to find them. My thoughts are just a bump of wind, a tiny bit o’ pinch, to let me know they’re there. Ebbing and flowing, intangible air. They come and they go. They’re an earthquake rocking my perception. I’ll write until I can ground my thoughts into something solid, until they become a stone I can throw or a house I can enter. My words are a tornado. A force that breaks through every barrier, lifting everything it touches to new heights. I feel like I am flying. I write with the speed of wind before I crash. Other times my words are dirt. I ask myself what’s the point? I have to look hard to find anything alive when my words feel like the ground beneath my feet, or I have to put in the work to plant something that will flourish. At times writing feels inevitable. It’s like I am propelled forward by a force of nature that’s snatched me up. Other times, writing is like trying to think during a natural disaster.