Type, Typing, Typed

3 March, 2010

There is a Time and Space for All to be In

If i could type, If i could read, If i could write;
on what topic shalt it be?

the whispering of the drills hovering over my roof top, accompanied by the distance humming of excavators in motions, loosening the soil that had been sitting in its place for ages galore, whilst i sit here at the 23rd floor, typing with my eyes closed.

for i do not need to see the words to hear them, they are in my mind, and my fingers are their vehicles, the vehicle for the words.
i do not look at the screen nor the keyboard, with intent, for they would scare the words away.

and thus, the typing stopped when i looked at them, reading them, scaring them away.


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