Keyboard, you keep me at a distance. Screen, you censor what I could say. Pen and paper, I'll return to you.
When I return to the ink and notebook combo (it's a winning one, too - try it), I will write about yesterday. The past. The subtle (to our eyes) patterns on the thawing ice, the loss of balance on the rocks by the river, the cold hands placed on familiar skin for warmth. The holes filled with the unknown. The gathering of sticks to fish, the letting go of fears to catch the moment.
It would be effortless to wrap myself up in this world. In this world I feel effervescent, exposed, engaged in the delicacies that are the heartbeat of life - if only we'd listen.
I want to listen. I want to begin to listen; or maybe resume listening? Have I been on pause? Either way, there are exquisite corpses waiting to be resurrected.
So this is what I will write about when I return.