sometimes. when i write. where there is nothing around. but the scraping of my pen. and the rustling of the paper. and the padded clamor inside my head. i hear another voice. dissuading me. interrupting my flow. i know it's the voice of my doubts. trying to work its way inside my mind. trying to work its way inside my psyche. trying to overwhelm me. and defeat me. but. this can only happen. if. i allow it. and. i do not. allow it.