She typed and typed as though there were so many stories to tell... After a while, her speed typing screeched to a halt as if the whole world was still. Nothing seemed to have mattered more than those tiny little words in the screen in front of her and the screen, in contrast to her dark room, was brighter than it would have been usually.
She read through the story and she scrutinized every single word that she had written. Then she rested her fingers on the backspace button, giving it another thought. Speaking out aloud, "Nope, this is not the way...." And she backspaced all the tiny little words.
A promise is a promise, especially when it is one that we made to ourselves.