Composed 12/15/15
Description: When you write, you dwell on things.
It was her nature
To move on while sitting still
She bubbled along the brook
Without mind to
Rocks, debris, and things
It was easy
To stroll about the attic
Leave the heart of things untouched
To watch it all blindly
Omnipresent and objective
Like the storybooks
But one does not live
In third person
Rushing forward does not present
Opportunity to be human
So she gulped until she felt her heart
And retched in on the page
And lived
In the moment
Scraps of Paper 