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The Writing

There are some things that we just give up on. Hearts shift with the passage of time— Like a kite caught in the breeze We fly and reach up for higher sunshine But we fall when our wind runs out. I sat down with my paper and couldn’t Even touch it. I saw blank space Before me – and blank space It remained. Time took my hand And didn’t let go, pulling me Out of my chair and away From my desk – the words tried To catch up with my speed, but I Was already gone. I sat down again – wordless, But determined. The paper stretched Out before me, still white and Utterly unmarked. I reached for a Pen, a pencil, anything— And then I felt the cold hand of time, Its pull insistent, its presence Eternal. It took my hand And whispered promises of Idle happiness that I Knew would take me far Far away From the writing. The words didn’t even try to keep up As my kite plummeted and My heart changed. The paper stretched out white and silent on my desk.
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Written by
lindsay-clark
American
Published
Dec 15, 2011
Lines·Words
36·187
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