Jenny Kaczorowski (CC / Flickr)

That time they took away my pen. It gives me a quiver of frustration every time I think of it. They would have to do it when I was assailed by thoughts I needed to write down before they passed through my mind like a shoal of fish, leaving nothing but a moment’s turbulence.

I asked for the pen back and they gave it to me, but the sound of my voice purged my mind. I hovered the pen over the blank paper, longing for what had slipped my grasp.

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

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