Imprints

Do you remember the feel of paper that has imprints on it, of words pressed and written on earlier pages with a ballpoint pen? When you touch it you know the ridges of curved letters will stay, you have to either write over them or not at all. The paper stiff with all that overwriting will resist with a heavy crinkle every time you try to turn it.

It is a lot like trying to move on. The imprints are all there and so is the resistance. You notice some words instantly. There is fear and hurt, guilt, loss and pain. Others too, the ones you can't identify only feel. Fragments of scratched out endings. Bits of love songs. You trace your fingers on the outlines for hours, for days. Only the lingering seems to numb the pain. Then..

You begin to write on the rigid stiff paper.....slowly at first, letting verses form naturally, instinctively. Trusting that whatever needs to be written will come, in its own time. And when it does you dare to jot down stories. Of long forgotten dreams and desires, a passion you lost somewhere on the way, an aspiration tucked away in a corner, another item in your bucket list, a hobby that dosen't seem so useless now, a wish you made on a star years ago. You write anud write and as the pages turn the old imprints fade and there is no chance for new...for you write lightly now, more at ease. Letting the words flutter out like feathers on tiny birds that chirp messages for you.

Gentle musical notes to remind you that in all the loving and losing and learning to love again your pages have softened and your poem is almost complete.

You feel the smooth paper at the base of your palm. It no longer resists.