The blinking cursor blinks with great expectation.

But the blank page remains blank.

I write and then delete.

I do that often.

I send a message and then unsend it.

I say something and then I wish I could un-say it.

I think a thought and then shake my head to erase that same thought.

I reflect on my social interactions with others and wish I could revise them.

It always could be better, and nothing is ever good enough to let it be as it is.

If it weren’t for deadlines, pressure of ticking clocks,

I’m not sure I’d ever get anything done, because I want perfection.

It is impossible.

I know.

I’ll drive myself insane at this rate.

I know that, too, and it may be too late.

Okay, fine, I give up.

Here is my imperfect string of thoughts.

Do what you will with it.

Say what you will.

Read into it what you will.

I know that I will want to delete this later.

But for now, I’ll let it sit as is.