flew in front of me and landed on the desk. Was white, unmarked, no dyes, nothing but a gray line on the edge that would frame the words that there would be written.
Why blank other owner failed and stopped in front of my eyes.
That's a question I would a thousand times while the blade is kept there still, waiting, pleading to be filled with words, phrases, ideas of a beautiful mind starting-again-to see the sunlight.
My hand took the pen and stopped a millimeter of the leaf. On my forehead down a bead of sweat, and my eyes closed looking magnámina that concentration of a writer when he must find the first word.
(That's a huge secret, but the first word is what defines whether you write is a masterpiece, or rather something bland that it was written to forget. Another phrase that will not be in the collective memory and to be dumped in the trash along with food waste, the toilet paper and report cards those little things that should be discarded.)
But the more I looked into every nook and cranny of memories, ideas, of memories of a million stories I wanted to tell, I could not find that word: WORD, which change my life forever and make me an established writer.
However, when I had given up and left again on the desktop pencil and white sheet as immaculate as a few hours ago, a spark of light illuminated my mind. I figured I did not know about eyes, I felt a whisper ice run down my neck, I saw hands that were not mine relaxing my muscles temple.
Why blank other owner failed and stopped in front of my eyes.
That's a question I would a thousand times while the blade is kept there still, waiting, pleading to be filled with words, phrases, ideas of a beautiful mind starting-again-to see the sunlight.
My hand took the pen and stopped a millimeter of the leaf. On my forehead down a bead of sweat, and my eyes closed looking magnámina that concentration of a writer when he must find the first word.
(That's a huge secret, but the first word is what defines whether you write is a masterpiece, or rather something bland that it was written to forget. Another phrase that will not be in the collective memory and to be dumped in the trash along with food waste, the toilet paper and report cards those little things that should be discarded.)
But the more I looked into every nook and cranny of memories, ideas, of memories of a million stories I wanted to tell, I could not find that word: WORD, which change my life forever and make me an established writer.
However, when I had given up and left again on the desktop pencil and white sheet as immaculate as a few hours ago, a spark of light illuminated my mind. I figured I did not know about eyes, I felt a whisper ice run down my neck, I saw hands that were not mine relaxing my muscles temple.
And there it was.
was there.
The Inspiration of a new life.
You.
I took the pen and wrote:
"I never find you ..."
LE
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