The Act of writing

When my mind kept pace with my thoughts. I let go of the act of writing. I let go of the friction of pen with paper, i let go of the colour of the ink and the texture of the paper.

My eyes blurred as the words spilled out of a race in my head. Freed momentarily.
A race between horses and rabbits and of a cat poking out of your cream coloured bell bottoms.

I meant well.
I was silent; silently walking, keeping myself to myself.
But you interrupted me and my machine of thoughts came to a halt.

I am alone now. My thoughts could not reach you.
My act of writing has failed.

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