I stare at the words in front of me,
The blank space below them,
The keys beneath my fingertips,
The possibilities I could bring to life.
Story lines bud in my mind,
But I hold back from letting them blossom,
Being sure to choose the one that will bloom the biggest.
I carefully garden the idea,
Trimming the bad ends,
Watering the characters that need growth,
Planting the roots in the richest soil of my mind.
Every branch connects perfectly with others,
Sprouting to plot twists and cliffhangers,
To adventures and quests,
To protagonists and antagonists.
Leaves grow into filler,
Fun little scenarios of laughter,
Smiles and conversations.
The trunk becomes strong,
The main plot strengthening,
Becoming able to support everything else.
I close my eyes and go over my story,
The twigs and the leaves,
The trunk and the blossoms,
Glad I ever-so-carefully gardened the idea.