Steth And Ink

"Some nights I’m too tired to write. After a long day spent in study, words blur together, and even opening a blank page feels impossible. Sometimes I struggle to read even a single page as I look at the phrases with a blank face. But the stories don’t stop coming. They wait — in my vivid dreams, in quiet corridors, in the margins of my notes — until I return to them. They knock on the door while I try to sleep. They peep through the window while I complete my notes. They never leave me. So I keep coming back to them."