Seven Degrees Left of Center

My Mechanical Keyboard Clicks On

My mechanical keyboard clicks on. The sound isn’t steady, not like a metronome. My hands shake, my timing wavers, but the clicks still come. And each one is proof of progress.

The rhythm is imperfect, but that makes it more honest. Every sound is a marker that thought has made it onto the page despite hesitation, despite difficulty. Each click carries weight: not just letters forming words, but effort overcoming resistance.

Writing has never been about silence for me. The sound matters. It reminds me that words are real, physical things — crafted through touch, not just floating on a screen. For some, the clatter of keys is nostalgic. For me, it is proof.

The keyboard clicks on, uneven but unstoppable. So do I.