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Ode to Paper

Once more, I write
on paper

once more, I acquaint myself
with an object so familiar 
with my eyes, nose, lips, fingertips and ears
once more, I write on paper. 

I remind myself
how it tears more easily
than the heart,
something so delicate that soaks too quickly
under a storm of tears
once more, a will
once more, I write.

I remind myself of my limitations:

a blank, finite space

cut, torn, or perfectly smooth edges

one chance

and my propensity for m̶i̶s̶t̶a̷k̶e̷s̷ errors

Again, I write

b̶l̶a̶n̶k̶ s̶p̶a̶c̶e̶s̶
i̶n̶f̶i̶n̶i̶t̶e̶ i̶r̶r̶e̶l̶e̶v̶a̶n̶t̶ s̶t̶a̶r̶s̶,̶
o̶b̶s̶c̶u̶r̶e̶ d̶i̶s̶t̶a̶n̶t̶ d̶r̶e̶a̶m̶s̶

Inch by inch,
stroke by stroke,
letter by letter my words bleed to their imminent death:
on paper they are fittingly memorialised
in my mind they never rest in peace.