Almost there

I hear people beckoning to me. They seem to imply that if I would just be still and allow them room, they'd talk to me, tell me stories. But as long as I'm too busy, they stay on the periphery and semi-mock me, sometimes pout. "Do you know how often you're 'almost there?' Just one or two things more and you can open a blank page and let us come to life, but no. Because after those one or two, there are one or two more, and before you know it, it's getting into the next day and you have to get your sleep." That's the vocal one.

And so they sleep. Someday, someday they just might move on to another writer who has the time. No, who makes the time.