One of the most fun parts of being a writer is finding old little pieces of writing that you’d completely forgotten about.
I was clearing out my bag tonight and found a small crumpled up notepad paper, on which I had written this about how I was in a state of restlessness, on the verge of getting a new thought, yet I could not capture what the new thought was. Here it is:
“FOR THE UNTHOUGHT THOUGHT”
Come to me, will you? I have been waiting for a very long time.
Pacing up and down this woody floor and sandy shore. I have been running,
through water and the sky and the knowledge of my eyes. I have been asking,
the winds and the birds and the people with dim faces, looking up.
I have been soaring through the distance and travelling between worlds-
looking for you.
I have done everything and all that is in my power to meet you.
But you are the ignorant lover,
and I am your play toy.
You are the winter sunset,
and I am the blind man.
You are the largest soap bubble,
and I the eager child.
You are the sky,
and I am a flightless bird.
We both have perfect knowledge of each other’s existence; yet I just cannot reach you.
Perfectly capable of embracing the other, but you will just not let me.