As I stare at the blank paper before me, Unconscious words begin to flow from the inkwell. But they feel every emotion I do. They pass along the page like days in a week. Each space between the words a break in the day. Thoughts and emotions fill the gaps in both.
Years pass between each letter of every word.
I end the sentence with a different meaning than when It was born of my mind. You read over my work and tell me how you love it, And thought the reason I write is flawed, I am satisfied. I think At least I hope so. The others must be mine. Except of course, one sample of Cookies and Cream, Which is Conner s.