When just at the door and steer at the desk in front of the window, and old suitcase called out to be open, as the rumbling sound of typing keys in the old typewriter, i surrender my will and accept the fields of destruction that could not stop... word after word, key after key, the smell of and long time unused paper brake down to the simple fact that even in a smudge you can find something...
Put down the pen, start walking and follow the door and leaving behind the thoughts resting on the surface of a sheet waiting on the world to be heard.
