My letter to Paper:
_________ ,
When I am crawling on my forearms, dry heaving a stomach full of anxiety, feeling blessed, or feeling desperate, you are there. When I have no option but to be judged everywhere else, you are there. When all my other outlets are public, and keeping it inside makes me crazy, I count on you to be rip-able, crumple-able, hidden and private. I can write a few words on you and carry you around. I can imagine you are vast, or miniature, or a statue, or a walnut. I can make something of you, or nothing of you.
I have depended on your scratching sounds for comfort. I have chased ideals and never caught them, I have kept all my secret fears away from predators.
My heart leaps and hits a wall.
My mind races and runs forever.
My whole life in between lines.
Thanks.
kl
