A thought flicks through my brain. The flick of a tuning fork. The flick of the wish, hanging on my neck.
Inwardly, I sigh, and reluctantly, I retrieve my phone.
I tap three times and then it starts. I watch the tendon flicking in my wrist, as my brain searches for the right words.
The words, my words, are what keep me sane. The chaos of my mind becomes ordered. Organised.
It's like suddenly, the piles of paper are stacked neatly in brown cardboard boxes. Flick. Flick. Flick. I find the right word from that one, and move on to the next.
Eventually, I've exhausted the boxes and so the tendon in my wrist comes to a halt, along with the screech of the buses brakes.
As my feet pass each other on the pavement, one foot ahead of the other, I'm happy. Satisfied. Ready to share my words, my sanity, with the world.