She didn’t know how to start it. She hadn’t picked up the pen in so long. It felt like a piano that was out of tune whispering chords that were just out of the grasp of her memory. It was sad that it had been reduced to this. Something that was once her passion was now a forgotten object in the corner, only to be taken out when nothing else would do. The feelings came back and she remembered what it felt like to be in love; not with one mere mortal, but with the world of words, phrases, and emotions captured in individual pieces called letters. She couldn’t believe that she had gone on so long without it.

An unfamiliar emotion flowed through her limbs as she realized that she didn't know what to write. She didn't know how to start. She was riding a bike for the first time in a very long time and couldn't help but doubt her own ability to ride. She remembered a time when she rode passionately, confidently, and without hesitation. One day, she knew, she would be at that level again. As her fingers grasped the pen, the ink would kiss the paper with such fluidity that the world could only pause and stare in silent awe. The words would flow with the power and might of a crashing wave, silencing souls with a gentle hush. One day.

That day was not today. Today, she feared. She doubted her own ability and set the pen down, not wanting to have to face the crumpled remnants of a brave and daring past. What if she tried and failed miserably? She couldn't do it, not today. Today was each day of the rest of her life.