Empty Paper

This I scrawled unusually for me pencil on paper. And quickly – not so much a flash fiction (which may be short but long in the making)  but like a speed-date or speed-chess, without pausing for reflection or breath. A flash in space yes but in time also.

And does it show I wonder – should I have as quickly scrunched it up and directed it toward my waste-paper bin…

Paper. Empty. Virgin. No ink soil. Infinity beckons.

Promises. Everything. Anything, something.

Too soon thoughts scrawled upon it

Some promises awaken, the rest cast aside, for another time, perhaps

The first thought has escaped me and become word. The first to be read, to be heard.

Momentum tumbles along the rest

One thing led to another

To a conclusion that sought itself out

Beyond my imagining


rushing gushing

stumbling fumbling

stalling walling (writer wailing, if without words)

then up and over to the final full stop.

Feelings and thoughts released and relieved.

Yet always a little haunted, that once again I disappointed, the promise of that empty page.