Harsh, warm light radiated from the window to his right. He could feel the heat on his closed eyelids. The combination of the gentle warmth and the silky sheets he was wrapped in made his wait a very relaxing one.
And then the writer suddenly lost interest.. Human 2.0 was trapped in a couple paragraphs, forever locked in a small room, on his bed, waiting for his arm to connect.
I think I have writer's block. I haven't written a story in a while, so it's kind of hard to come up with new ideas and stuff. The skill must be exercised.
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