"Does it just come to you"?
"In pieces, yes".
It's like running, how it makes me feel so free. The pages are my friends, the finished book a perfect lover. I don't sleep much. My mind, it's another person who works on a different time line. He lays next to me, pen in hand, then shakes me awake and hands me the paper. In the morning I read what came to me in sleep. I flick through the pages, like I'm walking through a dream, but it's more a part of me than what I see in the mirror. My soul in a visual form, the words like a child. I love each one the same, even those who are stained with tears.
Today we can't go out to play.
"In pieces, yes".
It's like running, how it makes me feel so free. The pages are my friends, the finished book a perfect lover. I don't sleep much. My mind, it's another person who works on a different time line. He lays next to me, pen in hand, then shakes me awake and hands me the paper. In the morning I read what came to me in sleep. I flick through the pages, like I'm walking through a dream, but it's more a part of me than what I see in the mirror. My soul in a visual form, the words like a child. I love each one the same, even those who are stained with tears.
Today we can't go out to play.
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