The delete button

When I'm writing, I find my hand often poised over the delete button. I write, read it, re-read, delete it and then find myself at a loss of words.

Because, nothing I write is good enough. It can be better. I can do better.

And what annoys me the most? When I write the perfect line. It's beautiful, it's smart, it's witty, it's lyrical. It's freaking perfect. And I can't find either head or tail.

Because nothing is ever good enough to come before or after that line... this most exquisite line has to be erased and never be used.

All writers go through this misery. Perhaps because we set such high standards for ourselves that nothing can ever go through the regimented perfection that we desire from our work.

Everything is non-satisfactory. Nothing is ever good enough.

It's good, but not good enough.

It's good, but it could be fantastic, ravishing, wholesome, extravagant.

There's always room for improvement.

The delete button is the realisation of this insecurity. Because the moment it sets it, pressing the delete button becomes second nature.

Sometimes I imagine the delete button to be smirking, like the callous villian whose long, thin fingers call the hero to his doom.

I hate the delete button.