Something old, something new,
Something borrowed, something blue,
and a silver sixpence in her shoe.
* * *
ON SUNDAY MORNING the “something borrowed” was returned to me.
It’s been rolling around in my mind ever since,
the thought,
the sentence:
The next morning the “something borrowed” was returned to me.
There’s something there, but what?
No other sentence attaches to it,
ties in, carries on.
This is where I’ve been in recent months,
unable to put two sentences together.
More an observation than a complaint, that.
I have but one sentence, so I leave you with the one sentence I have:
The next morning the “something borrowed” was returned to me.
Maybe that’s enough. Or maybe someday I’ll know what the next sentence is. Or the next word. All a writer’s life is is putting one word after another until something is built, a thought conveyed. Not only that, though. It’s also knowing where to put the pauses, the silences. It’s all part of it. And really…it’s all borrowed.
Comments disabled for the time being, but I invite you instead to email me, if you like. Your thoughts and reactions are important to me.
* * *
You might also like:
Day I Quit Writing (Pt. 1)
Day I Quit Writing (Pt. 2)
