Clara sat down opposite him, her expression softening. "Do you believe it matters, Elias?"
The coffee in the chipped mug had gone cold, a stagnant dark pool mirroring the dull grey of the morning sky outside. Elias sat at the small kitchen table, his fingers hovering over the keys of an old typewriter he’d found in a thrift store years ago. Beside him lay a scattered pile of papers—the first draft of a story he had been trying to write for what felt like a lifetime. You Are All That Matters
"Still at it, Elias?" she asked, stepping into the room. She glanced at the mess of papers. "It looks like a battlefield in here." Clara sat down opposite him, her expression softening
"Of course it is," Clara said with a small smile. "It's a first draft. It’s the skeleton, the bare bones. All that matters right now is that you’re getting it down, getting it out of your head. You can't fix a blank page, Elias. You can only fix what’s already there." Beside him lay a scattered pile of papers—the