I'm trying to write a script for my drama class.
I keep thinking to myself, This should be easy.
I write poetry all the time. It pours over my school work, leaks onto my hands, even sticks to the rubber soles of my shoes.
The theatre is my second home. I've read dozens and dozens of scripts this past summer alone.
I keep staring at the notebook in front of me, thinking to myself, Why isn't this easier?
I want to write about something real, something in my life.
I understand it best.
Why is it that everything true seems incomprehensible on paper?
No one believes the truth anymore.