To Write

At that very moment everything cleared up.
My eyes narrowed, catching on, grasping the thoughts flying through my head.
Someone had taken the sleeve of their shirt and wiped up the foggy window.
My heart pumped the blood throughout my body louder than usual,
“Thump thump, thump thump.”
The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end.
My hands were warm, I folded them together and let a slight grin crawl upon my face.
I felt the object down at my feet.
Bending down, I took it into my warm hands and held it, not even looking at it.
I knew what it was.
I opened it, feeling the slick emptiness gracefully dance around on the palm of my hand.
I reached my left hand into my pocket and pulled out the object of which I would use.
Switching it to my right hand I cradled it.
Embraced it.
I let it meet the emptiness.
Let it write itself all over the blank pages.
My eyes closed but my hand continued moving.
I was slowly dripping out myself into the object, my words onto the page.
And this is what I wrote.