Narrative

As I sit in the quiet room, with a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and a keyboard in front of me my body tenses up. The thought of not being able to write music anymore makes my stomach queezy. I sit and think for many tiring hours. Nothing seems to come to me. As soon as I start to give up an idea rushes in my head like a sudden gust of wind. The page now fills up with notes, the pencil now writing more than ever and the keyboard blasting out a sweet glorious melody. My body loosens, my stomach settles, and the time seems to fly by. It all comes back to me. The once quiet room is now bursting in song.