The pen sped across the page as she tried to get all the ideas out of her head down on paper to refer to later, knowing full well she wouldnâ€™t remember half of it when it really mattered.
So quickly the pen moved it wasnâ€™t leaving ink so much, as scorch marks on the page.
And then it stopped, the ideas having come to an end, nothing more flowed from the pen.
She took a breath and looked at the page below, and cried.
There were no words on the page at all.
The pen still had its lid on.