I wonder who sat
and wrote at this typewriter
all those years ago.
Did they fuss over the same stubborn keys as I?
Did they grin upon seeing their thoughts on the page?
Each bang and click clack
takes over the room's silence.
Their thoughts then. Mine now.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Sunday, March 10, 2013
He looks down at his feet, at the one withered flower. Picking it up, he exchanges it for the one that he brought with him.
"I'm sorry no one else comes, it's just that, no one else knows."
He continues on with the highlights of his week, and just like the weeks past he ends it the same way.
"They won't catch me. I'll be back next week. I promise."
Thursday, March 07, 2013
And so it returned. All of the day's hard work and persistence got thrown out the window as I sit here and write. I don't know where it comes from... this constant unhappiness. This longing for something more in life. I should be content with what I have but yet I yearn for what I know will never happen. I can have a beautiful day full of accomplishments and laughter and still it is not enough. All I want is someone to share the night with, and so the pain returns.