The hazy curtain of day to day.

Occasionally, it is never clear when this is going to happen, there will be a moment, a brief glimpse of the work she is meant to do. The last time this happened she was sitting alone on the sofa late at night watching something, she can’t remember what but it tripped a thought. She froze hoping if she remained very still the tiny grasp of an idea would stay. Maybe if it didn’t hear her breathing it wouldn’t bolt. For a few seconds she could feel it, see it but not quite make sense of it until ultimately, as always, it slipped away the only tangible clue left behind being a scrumptious trail of pencil and pink, a feeling that there in was the answer, before life went back to “normal” the truth hiding behind the hazy curtain of day to day.