| There is something precious about the translation of thought into words, words onto paper. Perhaps too much time is spent on the first, when in truth one should prefer the latter. A sudden distaste for usage of the term "I" now, tis strange how hard it is to quit using something so commonplace. Nevertheless, the attempt to stop cannot hurt, can it? Eyes dry, lips pressed. Thoughts arrive and depart, and arrive and depart again. Eyes perhaps not so dry now, the curve of the lips now gone. Ah but it comes back, eventually. |
