It's easier to write when I know where to start. But usually the goal's an end­ing: something pretty with a bow. And there's the rub. I have to find a way to spend my limited amount of lines connect­ing where I'm coming from to some elusive truth. And if I'm good, the words reflect my meaning well and resonate with you. But even then, one text, one poem, one ess­ay's not enough to totally convey the feelings that I wanted to express within. And so I take a lifetime, stay­ing quiet, putting pieces on the shelf. The author dies still talking to themself.