I haven’t faced the blank page in a while, was I afraid of trying to give order and clarity to the mess? Or was just afraid of facing the mess itself? I can’t grasp the last month and all I got is a gallery full of blurred pictures that depict the speed I’ve been under, a few verses that don’t make a poem, a few ideas I can turn into a whole, scattered pieces, a broken glass, a broken heart, grains but not sand.
Blurred Photographs
Blurred Photographs
Blurred Photographs
I haven’t faced the blank page in a while, was I afraid of trying to give order and clarity to the mess? Or was just afraid of facing the mess itself? I can’t grasp the last month and all I got is a gallery full of blurred pictures that depict the speed I’ve been under, a few verses that don’t make a poem, a few ideas I can turn into a whole, scattered pieces, a broken glass, a broken heart, grains but not sand.