soaked

Killian dreams in the darkest room in a cabin up on a hill. He writes his thoughts and his passions on paper. The direction of the characters are chaotic. The plot is gone. The scenes do not come to life. Outside, more rain, and more moments for inspiration are washed away. The window is shut. The floors speak to his shoes, begging for Killian to pace a little more. Massage the wood. The welcome mat is soaked and cries for more ideas.

When Killian walks out of the house and soaks his socks, the sensation comes at a shock. But the stimulation is what ignites the thoughts and sparks the next chapter.

Killian pulls his wet socks off and places them next to the fire so they can dry. In the meantime, he sits down at the desk again and writes about his feet's burdens. How life's water is pure, but also an anchor that presents the most unlikely challenges. The tides are constant, but the waves are conflicting, random and daunting.