I didn’t know how to start, everything had turned strange, maybe there was nothing different after all, but still, I couldn’t figure out what to do, so I did the only thing I know how to do in that sort of occasions, not that I’ve been in something like that before, but I was some kind of natural response to that uncertainty. I took a pencil, and I drew some swirls and filled the page, in the other side of the page I started writing, I don’t know what I wrote, perhaps I’ll never remember, but I wrote a lot. I filled that page, and the next one, and the next one. I knew I was done when the pencil fell by itself from my hand and it’s graphite point broke leaving a spot in the paper. I took a breath, I didn’t even read it. Perhaps I spent some minutes looking at the drawing before I stared ripping every single page from the notebook. Then, I left my room, went for a match and burned the whole thing, I saw how the paper turned black and my words flew in the wind in form of ashes, and they left, they left me. I went back, words didn’t. I went back, and I finally rested, from those words, which no longer inhabited my mind, which now flew free, and as they where free, so was I.

[ Mrs K i t e ]