Tuesday Night - Thread of a Man

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Thursday Again

Writing again - verbatim - what I wrote after writing this, without knowing what it is exactly, simply by predicting it. There is the risk of writing only what I could write; and there is the risk of writing what I won't; then of course there's the risk of writing what I do predict, although it might combine what I can't. What I predict then is this.

Wednesday's Ashes

Window open, on the couch, with the memories of a friend, who comes to me in ink. Curls my letters into writing and shapes the whiteness of the page, coloring pictures shaping my mind, of her walking with me somewhere, somewhere years ago - I can hear my neighbor's footsteps passing down below. My neighbor's gone now. Door closed, just a silence echoing night. Where are you I ask? Here, she replies. Too silent for me to hear. Silence words again, on pages that don't hear anymore. Where is she, I write, listen.