"Mom!" The wails from my child follow the call of my title. It's a familiar interruption. My thoughts cry out, "It's okay. You'll write later."
Time passes, and again the itch creeps in, followed by another distraction—a vicious cycle.
Frustration brings on a rebellious determination; today, I'll write. I'm ready.
With an ache pounding in my chest, I set my fingers against once forgotten keys, unaware the reaper called until the screen fades to black.
I was ready, little too late.