Watercolor on White

not so much of a poem as just free form writing

Watercolor on White

Let us take a moment to reconsider. To think back and reflect. To review what we have done that maybe we should not have. It’s hard to tell sometimes until you peer into the past and search.

But wait.

Am I a writer or am I just merely rewriting what has already occurred?

Not that it is so wrong to do such, but past is past and should stay away from the present and the future.

Yet. The mind tends to dwell on memories much more than it probably should.

Especially, it would seem, the memories that have the ability to tear our hearts to pieces right after we manage to stitch ourselves back together.

Hum.

There is a hum in this room and I think many of you will know exactly what I mean.

This is not the hum of voices or a hum from the fluorescent lights above.

It’s the hum occurring in the mind, not of headaches or migraines, but of clear nothing.

White.

A freaking writer's block, and it sits like a cloud.

Funny how it could be so pretty of an image but really be such a pain.

Oh wait.

Just like the past.

Like watercolor dripped onto my white canvas of a mind.

Photographic memories now.

Episodes.

Where we held each other by the lake in the darkest time of night and never expected everything to fall apart.

Ouch.

Look at that. I swear I didn’t try.

But they have a stupid way of resurfacing

and hurting

even more.

Reviews

[B. Boileau]

What a great thought you've penned. And an even greater way to get rid a writers block... just write what ever comes to mind... even if it is in the past
after all a lot of stuff is written on memory. ..painful sometimes, non the less A great read!
bill