Tonight I stood under a staircase to get out of the rain, and showered ideas down, wetting page after page of a notebook the size of my palm. I thought it a romantic, singular moment, a loose pen slathering the page while the lights and sounds around me spoke of the artificial environment of the contemporary world. I pleaded with the universe for moments enough to record my flooding feelings, before I had to hide my notebook from the freezing drips and chase down a car.
My thought, seemingly completed, yet ran from the spigot the next day.
No comments:
Post a Comment