I sit. I stare. I think.
The cursor flashes in its eternal perfect rythym on the blank white area where thoughts are meant to be be revealed, expressed, thrown out to the world.
I look down.
I raise my hands over the keyboard: a rectangle of letters numbers and symbols, all mean something or have a function to there existance in their specific location in their apperent random placing.
My finger moves over the 'I'.
I rest my hands back onto my lap.
I look up at the screen.
Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.
My fingers dance over the keyboard.
I think. I stare. I leave.