This is a draft post and it contains partial thoughts. These are half chewed on ideas that lack a start and end. They only have a middle.
Ideas, turned into sentences, dance around with each in the text editor. Being moved around to a better spot in the story to tell their part, or removed entirely because their story will not be told today. They always hope to make the final revision and perform their choreographed steps for the public.
What makes these thoughts a draft? When does a thought, idea or rant go from the infant stages to being released in the wild? Will this still be a draft after I allow it to live amongst the other complete thoughts? Is this all a draft can hope for in life?
When words cannot explain there are links to an appropriate article or an inspiring photograph. This has neither, and without a subject to write on is this a draft? Am I just a manipulator moving this marionette of work, hiding behind the curtains and unseen by the audience?
Only at the end of his time on stage is a purpose given to the performance. The morale of the story is known, but only at the very last moment. The moment when the velvet curtains fall hard to reality and disrupt the dust on the neglected stage floor. The audience sit in silence for half a second, and in unison applaud as one.