When I reach the end will I regret having spent my life writing? What end did I expect? Was this a quest for something? A search for purpose? Will I have wasted my life playing with inactive verbs and mannequin nouns?
I have turned thoughts into images, ideas into stories, all the time, not even once, riding a seahorse or taking an active part in anything requiring sunscreen. I have wiggled my fingers above this keyboard as if they knew what they were doing. Planting words and spreading commas like fertilizer. Believing things would grow while I remained just an onlooker, sitting along the sidelines watching the sprinkler rotate back and forth.
Always missing were
the sound effects. With any luck the
last thing I ever write will be…
Ta Daaa…
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