Sunday, July 3, 2011

Over Coffee and Cookies



Four hours before midnight, I sat glancing at the half empty cup in front of me. The black aroma permeating in the air would've warmed me, but it didn't. How distressing can a cup of coffee be on a cold July night?

I reached for the papyrus and began scribbling-hoping to find solace in the written art.

I have trust issues. My mother won't-

No. No. That's too direct.

How does a butterfly, let go of it's shell
when the fig twigs tangle its freedom?
How doth a flower bloom
when winter in it's bleak glory,
brings about it's doom?

Superficial, I reckon. But that is enough for tonight, at least. I stared once again at the cup and dipped a cookie. I watched it dissolve into mushy madness.



2 comments:

  1. I love reading stuff written about writing. :) You were able to capture the moment perfectly. ;p

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