words
are pouring out of my pen
on to the empty pages of the notebook
filling them
with people,
places,
possibilities…
the more I read
the more it pours
like a river
rushing
through a valley of paper
leaving blue ink stains
everywhere
the pictures change quickly,
landscapes race by
days pass
weeks
or even months
and I’m crashing
from one emotion into the next
riding the tide
like a lonely cork
always on top
yet never really part of the river myself
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