The shiny black cover of a new notebook, lures me, from its place on the bed.
I sniff its delicious newness with delight while slowly I turn the pages.
Stories flood my head, vivid pictures and tender poems,
mix with color descriptions and lonely poetry until they're all just a bunch of meaningless words.
I sift through it, untangling the jumbo. Then a story leaps out at me,
itching through my fingertips to be told.
I reach for the sharpened pencil, and chew on it's pink eraser.
Then I put the tip to the lined paper and watch with interest as my story unfolds on
to its hungry pages.
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