untold, unwritten

Unspoken half-words, as if the shadow of a pen without a pen to cast it onto a page, write themselves in the book of the night. They sink swiftly into the blackness of the paper and fall into the depth of darkness. Even if the echo of the bottom encountered on their way down (or maybe the it is the day encountered, as if light at the other end of a gutter) returns back to the surface, I cannot hear it nor read it through the sleep. On the morrow, the book does not open, and on the following night it is impossible to find the same page again. Their bookmarks are watermarks wandering through the pages when nobody is looking. Writing remains, words flee, thoughts…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.